Snapshots: Stepping Stones
by ramblingonandon
Summary: [Prequel to Snapshots: Our Days.] Theirs is a brotherhood wrought over a lifetime spent in each other's orbit. He is the errant comet heading their way. A look at the Inseparables and the boy who came, who saw and who stayed. The story of friendship old and new. [Heed the warnings given at the start of the chapters]
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: So here's to hoping people are still interested in this 'verse. There may be police procedure and medical inaccuracies in this, my research and understanding is limited in both.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own anything recognizable in this story, not making any money.**

* * *

" _ **We know one another's faults, virtues, catastrophes, mortifications, triumphs, rivalries, desires, and how long we can each hang by our hands to a bar. We have been banded together under pack codes and tribal laws." – Rose Macaulay**_

* * *

Sitting back in his chair he rubbed his eyes and winced at the dry itchy feeling of it. Pulling away his hands the young man stretched his arms over his head and winced at the pull along the slope of neck; but it did nothing to loosen the knot at the base of it. There was a tightness coiled in the back of his head from staring at the screen too long.A glance at the corner of the screen before him declared that he had been at it for sixteen hours.

No wonder his back hurt and his rear was numb.

He twisted in his seat and tried to soften the twinge between his shoulders even as he entered the last command. The rapid keystrokes were rewarded with a window opening on the screen and a live feed of a building front came into view.

It was five in the morning. He was not expecting the front door to open and the man to emerge this early; a backpack on his shoulder and a long case in one hand.

He watched as the man zipped up his hoodie coming down the stairs, then turned around as though calling out for someone even as he stuck his free hand in his pocket and hopped from foot to foot. A taller figure emerged from the doorway, walked past him and towards the black car where he dumped his duffel bag at his feet. Crossing his arms before him the big man leaned back against the car and dropped his chin to his chest.

It was a five minutes wait and then he appeared out of the door.

Olivier d'Athos d'La Fere.

His chair squeaked as the young man sat forward, shoulders hunched as he moved closer to the screen and tried to clear the grainy image as best as could. He had spent a couple of years to track down this Athos, gone through countless databases to find the name, his only advantage being that the name was rare.

It had still been a disappointment that this man did not match the face of the man who had been caught on camera while leaving the alley where he had murdered Alexander d'Artagnan.

But the young man was sure that this Athos was involved in the murder somehow, the woman had said that he will have the answers. That was why he was spying on him from afar, he wasn't sure he could hold himself back from attacking the man should they come face to face.

His attention focused back on the screen as the three men drove away and he pulled out from the camera feed; closing the proverbial back door quietly behind him. Now that he had built this door, he would have to use it wisely.

His mobile phone buzzed and he frowned at Dujon's number.

Picking up the phone he paused to gather his bearing. Inhaling through his nose the young man blew out a breath before he accepted the call.

"What?" he pressed the device to his ear, "I told you I won't pass on any information to your boss; that's not how I work,"

"Boss agreed to your conditions," Dujon said, "I'll be coming to get you in five hours, pack your stuff."

"Good," he nodded, "I've the perfect candidate for this."

He cut the call and glanced at the screen where he had pulled Athos' picture form his work profile. The man had the perfect 'grey area' occupation to frame him for dark deeds and old family ties in France that wouldn't raise flags for the money transfer until after the sum had moved along. What he had done to this Athos in the past few days would be child's play compared to what he would unleash on him now. The young man felt a spark of guilt and stamped it down with a vengeance, yet he couldn't meet the cool blue eyes of the man in the picture and hastily closed the window on the screen.

Pushing away from the desk the young man got to his feet, reaching out for the wall when the world swayed at his sudden change in position. As the blood rushed to his toes he swallowed back a hiss at the tingling in his feet and ignored the headache just making itself known.

A tiny part of him knew he should eat something and get something for his suddenly parched throat but the rest of him just wanted to sleep. If only for the hour and a half before the grocery truck arrived for Mr. Enzo's pizza shop downstairs that he would help unload. It wasn't that he needed the money, but simply that he liked having someone to talk to even if Mr. Enzo did most of the talking. The man was always grateful for the help and eager to share the stories from his childhood.

A slow smile appeared on the young man's face at the thought, sometimes he wondered if Mr. Enzo was just as lonely as him.

Shaking his head to dislodge that thought he staggered the short distance to his bed, shoved aside the pile of clothes he had been meaning to wash and flopped down onto his side. Smushing his face in the pillow he willed the burning in his eyes to go away, because it wasn't only out of exhaustion that they stung.

It was a strange sense of isolation and yearning that had abruptly lodged itself in his throat. The ache in his lungs that was his father's memory rose in a wave to drown out the world. Pursing his lips against it he focused instead on the man he had found. After all these years he was so close to solving his father's murder, in just a few hours he would destroy the man who was behind it.

A frown etched on his face as sleep took him, his last thought was of Athos and how from all that he had been able to find out about him, nothing even remotely hinted Athos to be the evil man he had hoped him to be.

* * *

Sliding off the towel from around his neck Athos wiped at his face before rubbing it through his sweat damp hair. He dumped the towel on the bench beside him, ran a hand through his hair to push them back from his forehead and took a mouthful of water from the bottle he had picked up from next to his feet.

The sound of a body hitting the training mats reached him just as the thin crowd before him cheered.

"Who's next?" Porthos' voice asked loudly.

Athos rolled his eyes and screwed back the cap on the water bottle.

From his place he could only glimpse the action that had most of the people in the gym enthralled. He couldn't blame them, watching Porthos toss people across the training mats wasn't something that could ever get old. Checking a fond grin before it could cross his lips Athos got to his feet and plucked at his sweat drenched shirt in distaste.

"Is that all then?" Porthos demanded from the audience.

The new recruits hooped and clapped as some unfortunate soul took the challenge.

Athos made his way over to the training mats at a leisurely pace.

Captain Treville had decided to round the teams off at his company to even numbers of four and that had brought an influx of new faces. The new faces who were not smart enough to stand down when Porthos asked for a sparring partner. It was an unspoken rule; the three men from Team One only sparred amongst themselves, mostly because Athos and Aramis were the only ones who lasted more than a few minutes on the mats against Porthos.

"Alright, someone who knows how to fight this time,"

"I'll take you on!"

Although Athos was quite sure that when the Captain had asked them to supervise and help assimilate the new recruits into the company the boss hadn't had this in mind. Athos was entertaining a theory that their Captain had hoped that the three of them would pick out a new recruit to join their team instead of their superior ordering them to force one into their perfectly gelled group.

A smirk pulled at his face at the sneaky tactic he could see failing and he tempered it as the crowd parted to let him through.

Athos reached the mats in time to see Porthos flip a man over his shoulder and catch him in a headlock. The man was tapping out after thirty seconds. The challenger had a sheepish grin on his face and a new respect in his eyes when Porthos hauled him back to his feet.

The big man caught his friend's gaze and winked at him.

Athos raised a brow and mused that this was at least a good way to let the new recruits know about the dynamics of this work place, about how it was unhealthy to get in the way of the Inseparables as the three of them were known here. They were already giving him a wide berth after all, and Porthos did love his reputation as the unbeaten sparring champion at Treville's Security, Investigations and Retrieval Company.

"The show's over ladies and gentlemen," Athos turned to the crowd, "I'm sure the Captain will appreciate if we pretended to be working when he arrives."

Some chuckled, others nodded and the crowd dispersed.

"Still unbeaten," Porthos grinned as he padded over, "what? No congratulations for me?"

"And add hot air to that already inflated ego?" Athos raised a brow, "no thank you,"

He looked past Porthos where Aramis was standing on the other side of the area covered with blue mats. The younger man wasn't looking their way, leaning a shoulder against a pillar his face was turned to the wide windows far on his side where the early morning sun had lightened the sky.

It would be 'office time' soon but Athos knew that was not on his friend's mind at the moment. It was in the way he had his arms wrapped about his middle and the distant look in those dark eyes that spoke of a mind trapped in memories just scabbing over. It had only been a little over a year since that nightmare of a training exercise…

… _"Something's gotta give Athos, it can't come to this –" Porthos draws his hand over his face then lets his head hang between his shoulders. Elbows pressed onto his thighs he stares down at his hands before looking up at him._

 _The grief in his eyes will not let Athos look away although he wants to._

" _It can't go on like this," Porthos says, "he has to talk, he can't just not talk, you know it's just –"_

 _The big man jerks his head in a frustrated abortive move. Athos doesn't tell him that he misses their brother's voice too, that Aramis' silence is starting to frighten him._

" _He'll come around Porthos," he says, "he has to,"_

 _And he ignores the way his voice wavers…_

… Porthos had followed his line of sight and Athos pretended he didn't hear the curse that fell from his brother's lips. Instead he shook his head when the big man called their friend's name from halfway across the training mats.

"Aramis!" Porthos tried a bit loudly when the first few tries failed.

Their friend swung his head in the direction of the voice and a grin lit up his face even as his eyes shifted from one man to the other.

"Really? You're not going to congratulate me either?" Porthos demanded, spreading his arms wide as he looked to Athos and then back at Aramis, "still undefeated champion here."

And it was the Aramis from their childhood who glanced at Athos.

It was a fleeting look but Athos felt his own grin curl at the corner of his lips at the message he saw in those dark eyes; a gleam of mischief demanding a quick silent alliance that could only be reached after the decades of friendship like theirs.

Porthos' eyes widened, but he had intercepted the message a second too late.

In a juvenile move that none of their instructors would have approved Athos and Aramis tackled Porthos to the mats. The big man fell laughing as the two of them squirmed to keep him down, unsuccessfully latching onto his arms and sprawling over his legs. They had done this a thousand times over and still it came as a surprise when Athos felt his friend lift him off and dump him on Aramis. Porthos pinned them under him and with an arm across Aramis' neck he pressed Athos' face against the mats with his free hand.

"Give up," Porthos demanded, "surrender!"

"In your dreams," Athos muttered.

"Never!" Aramis managed past a chocked laugh, "You'll never take us alive!"

And Athos grinned against the vinyl wrinkling under his cheek even as he tried to kick off his friend. He bucked and shoved, but his efforts only hindered Aramis' who was trying to wriggle out to freedom too. The loud laughter from under him dissolved abruptly into snickers as the sound of someone pointedly clearing their throat reached Athos.

He stilled; felt the pressure on his face lessen and glanced at Porthos from the corner of his eye. The big man closed his eyes in a resigned sort of gesture, the only movement in their sudden stillness was from the chuckles that seemed to be bubbling out of Aramis' chest from where he was stuck under their combined weight.

"You three,"

Athos turned his head and ruthlessly ignored the sheepish grin on Porthos' face as the man rolled off of them.

"Captain," Athos said.

"Gentlemen,"

Feeling anything but a gentleman Athos pushed himself to sit up with as much dignity as possible. He resisted the urge to uselessly dust off his clothes as the other two followed his lead and came to stand with him before the Captain.

Porthos on one side of him, Aramis on the other.

Silently electing him as the one to face this down.

Captain Treville arched a brow.

And suddenly it wasn't the gym at work but the headmaster's office at their boarding school.

… _the scent of leather bound books hangs in the warm air and his uniform is getting heavier by the minute in the toasty roam. Athos imagines steam rising from their damp sweaters and hopes that the growing stain on the carpet under their feet doesn't turn into a puddle._

 _At his side Porthos is still, lips pursed in a thin line and eyes set on the far wall. It's the stillness that gives away to the fact that that his friend had long since checked out mentally despite the physical presence and the somber outward appearances._

 _Athos envies Porthos' remarkably neat edged selective attention._

 _On his other side Aramis has the most contrite look on his face; if not for the slight upwards twitch at the corner of his lips and an unrepentant gleam in the dark eyes when they slant Athos' way._

"… _and right in the courtyard no less."_

 _Swiping away damp hair stuck to his forehead, Athos turns his attention back to what the headmaster is saying._

 _Because one of them has to pay attention to that._

 _And it seems he's the one left to court the questions._

 _Again._

 _This is their second year here and the fifth snowball fight that Athos would deny they had started. He bites back a put-upon sigh, Aramis loves snow and Porthos loves the outdoors in general. There will be a lot more of these talks coming their way Athos is sure. He's just glad the no one out of the three of them knows about the times Aramis had dragged them out in rainstorms._

 _For all his tendency to be the first one with chattering teeth, his friend loves the cold…_

…that thought dissolved any lingering amusement that he felt at their situation. Athos knew his friend hated the cold now, after that training exercise a little over a year ago. The one that had ended in a massacre and left every snow blanket stained red for Aramis.

Some things had changed irrevocably.

"You were supposed to keep an eye on the new recruits," said Treville.

"I sent them off to the showers,"

Thankfully the gym was empty save for the four of them; Athos wondered how they could have lived this down if the new recruits had witnessed it. Resisting the urge to glare at the men on either side of him he resigned himself to the idea that with these two around he would never be able to actually grow up.

"You have a new assignment. Oh-nine-hundred, my office,"

With that the Captain marched out the way he had arrived and Athos felt Porthos shift on his feet beside him. A glance to his other side revealed shaking shoulders and Athos cuffed Aramis upside the head. His friend retaliated by abandoning all efforts of keeping his laughter in check.

"You do know he can't give us detention Athos," Aramis grinned, "or did you forget that?"

"He can still stick us with guard duty,"

"I think he learned not to do that," Aramis shrugged, "not after Porthos scandalized the farm animals."

"I saved that duckling from the pigsty,"

"And I'm sure mama duck and her friends only wanted to bestow a thank you hug," Aramis nodded, "why were you running again?"

"Because the demented beasts were snapping at me," Porthos shuddered at the memory.

Aramis laughed and Athos herded them towards the locker room. Dialing in the combination he reached for the clothes he had hung in there upon his arrival in the too-early hours of the morning; sometimes being the Captain's most trusted men had its disadvantages.

"Treville could have us as a secondary team to Rocheforts'." he tossed over his shoulder as he bent to grab his shoes.

"Not after Aramis brought that ferret in the surveillance van," Porthos grinned up at him from where he was pillaging his duffel bag.

"It was adorable and it wasn't his fault that the man had trained him to help him in burglaries," Aramis glanced back at him from the depths of his locker.

"You could have told us that you've caught the thief before that thing had unplugged every wire in there," Athos said.

"And miss out on Rochefort blowing his fuse at finding the burglar all tied up in the side alley? And that after he had spent so long playing mission impossible? Never!" Aramis closed his locker and turned to Athos, "and you were the one who broke Rochefort's nose last time we worked together. Treville had to foot the bill."

"He brought bodily harm to Porthos,"

"He jabbed me in the chest with a finger," the big man rolled his eyes.

"And Athos jabbed him in the face with a fist, seems reasonable" Aramis grinned.

He thumped him on the back as he walked past Athos and out the locker room. The heavy door closed with a snick and Athos raised an eyebrow without turning around to face the bench where he had left his toiletry bag.

"He stole my shampoo didn't he?" he asked.

"Whad'ya think?" Porthos grinned.

And some things never ever changed.

With a shake of his head Athos reached for his mobile phone and swiped the screen and it _BARKED._ He would deny to his last breath that he jumped in his skin at the horrible sharp sound. Curling his hand in a fist around his mobile phone Athos looked to Porthos when his friend swore roundly. The piece of technology kept on barking even as Athos tried in vain to silent the thing.

"Don't tell me it's him again!" Porthos got his feet.

Placing the mobile phone back in the locker Athos pressed a hand over it to further muffle the incessant barking. He turned to his friend with a bland stare.

"Unless a canine spirit has descended in my phone I'd say it's him,"

"You sure you don't know this Hound?" Porthos stared at his friend's hand when the mobile phone finally went quiet.

Athos picked it back up and stared at the screen where the face of a pitbull greeted him from behind the words THE HOUND. This was what had met him when his email account had been hacked a few days ago and he had handed his laptop over to Serge for debugging. The old technician had been livid because apparently this same Hound had hacked into the company database too, Serge was pretty sure that this person had come looking for Athos' files.

"I'm locked out of it now," he said.

"This Hound is good at what he does," Porthos shook his head, "but why are you the target?"

Athos shrugged and pulled out the battery of his mobile phone. Putting both items back in his locker he closed the metal door and locked it. This was getting out of hand; pursing his lips Athos glanced to his friend and found the same sentiment reflected in Porthos' gaze.

"Who did you annoy this time?" Porthos asked.

Athos couldn't stop the smirk from reaching his face.

"Would you like a chronological list or an alphabetical one?" he asked.

* * *

The picture was of a building that could politely be called vintage. It was a squashed looking structure with paned windows that were thrown open at the two upper levels and shut tight on the ground floor. The only door visible in the picture was closed too.

Detective Inspector Leon tapped the picture.

"This is where he'll be for breakfast this morning," he said.

"It's Mendoza's property," Porthos pointed out.

"Yes, this hotel and the building next to it," Leon said, "we cannot go in without a warrant and right now there's no solid ground for that."

Treville looked at the three of his best men. He didn't miss the way Laurent kept glancing towards them; the new recruit was perched into one of the chairs by the Captain's desk and hadn't moved ever since the Inseparables had entered the office.

"This is a recon assignment," Treville said, "do not engage Mendoza or his men; especially if one of his client's is there."

"A client who might be buying illegal ammunition?" Aramis flipped through the folder in his hand, "what gives you the idea we'll even try to look his way?"

An all too innocent glance came his way and Treville' eyes narrowed, he knew that grin on Aramis' face.

"Your purpose in there is to find out anything you can about Cornet," said the Captain and pushed forward four other pictures lying on his desk, "this is Cornet and his men. As of nine days ago they had officially been declared as gone off grid."

Athos picked up Cornet's picture and glanced up at Leon.

"He was your man on the inside?" he asked.

The Detective Inspector leaned a hip against the Captain's desk and crossed his arms in front of his chest before he gave a short nod. Treville could relate to the strain that was rolling off the man, losing a man in field was never easy.

"It was a deep undercover assignment, Cornet and his men had infiltrated the ranks from various points of Mendoza's set up." Leon nodded towards the picture in Athos' hand, "he was a good man and good at his job, extremely cautious. When he missed his last check-in two weeks ago we thought it might be his routine paranoia. But then the other three didn't make any contact either and it soon became apparent that they weren't active at their positions in Mendoza's ranks."

"How deep undercover are we talking?" Porthos took the picture from Athos and frowned at it, "are you sure that he didn't –"

"No," Leon snapped, "he didn't turn sides, Cornet would not do that."

"We will not believe that he had gone local until proven otherwise," Treville said.

It was uncanny the way the men from Team One looked at each other at the same instance, before turning to him in unison. The Captain decided he would one day get to the bottom of the reason as to why he let these men question his authority this way. No other team would even consider calling out the Captain on his stance.

"He was my friend," Leon said before Treville could offer an explanation, "Your Captain knew him too. Cornet had risked a lot going into this; he would not throw it all away for anything Mendoza can offer him."

Porthos nodded slowly as he placed the picture back on the desk, his jaw set in determination that was reflected in Athos' hardening eyes and the sudden press of Aramis' fingers against the folder he had been going through.

Loyalty to your friend; that was one thing Treville knew his men understood completely.

"You're not the only ones who had gone down this lane," Leon drew a hand through his hair, "especially since no evidence had turned up otherwise. We had thought that there'll be bodies at least by now but there's nothing. And now they're considering scrubbing three years worth of information on the presumption that Cornet and his men had turned."

Captain Treville collected the items scattered onto his desk and piled up the folders.

"You will be scoping sight A; get in and find out if you can overhear anything concerning Cornet," he said, "Team Two will be looking into sight B."

He raised his hand before the three of them could voice the objections clearly on the brink of being materialized.

"I will tell Rochefort that Team One will take point in this," he said, "You can take the conference room for debriefing but you leave in half an hour gentlemen, and remember recon doesn't mean you leave yourselves defenseless."

Aramis pressed a hand on his heart and stared at the Captain as though offended.

"I will never let them go in without me watching their backs," he said.

Treville smirked at the sniper and glanced fleetingly towards Laurent.

"And aren't you glad now that I had taken on Ninon on Team Two? She can watch over them and your attention wouldn't have to be divided now," he said, "and likewise I'm sure you'll find Laurent here a good addition to your team as well."

* * *

He drummed his fingers on the laptop on his knees, it wasn't his personal one but the one that he took when working out of his flat. It had lesser tricks and no personal data, precaution was a necessity with the clientele like his.

"I'm putting my neck out for you y'know," Dujon turned in his seat to face the young man in the back, "the boss wasn't convinced easily,"

"As far as I know Mendoza reached out to me," he stared back blandly, "something about my work being highly recommended,"

"Don't get too cocky kid," Dujon turned away with a growl, "and what sort of a name is Hound anyway?"

"The Hound," he corrected the man, "you should at least know the proper name of the man you're vouching for."

Dujon snarled under his breath and glared at the driver who had been grinning. The Hound ignored him and watched the world roll by from the car window. This job was getting too personal and he didn't like the way everything he had come to know about was churning in his gut. He reminded himself that somehow that man was responsible for his father's murder and forced his thoughts back on the task at hand as the car slowed to a stop.

He got out in front of a three story building that looked like it could be beautiful if someone had paid it a bit of attention. It was at least in a better condition than the one next to it and the young man wondered what Mendoza would need two rundown buildings for.

With a shake of his head he stopped short his thoughts that had taken a dangerous turn, that path would lead him to evaluating his own choices and The Hound didn't want to bring that to the forefront. His father's disappointed frown flashed in his mind and for some strange reason a pair of disapproving blue eyes followed in his thoughts.

The Hound shoved it all away into a corner of his mind and crossed the pavement to the thick front door of Mendoza's hotel.

* * *

 **TBC**

 **Thank you so much for reading!**


	2. Chapter 2

"I don't understand why I can't go in with you two," Laurent frowned.

"Because I said so," Athos replied.

They had parked the car a street away from Mendoza's hotel. Team Two was parked nearer to the hotel but Rochefort, Flea and Charon had been deposited on the sidewalk a few blocks back by Ninon. The woman was to set up her position in the same building as Aramis and Porthos was tired of his friend whining all the way that she would pick the good spot by virtue of getting there first.

"Are you saying you don't have the skill to make do with the spot you get?" he bumped shoulders with the man who was pulling out his rifle case.

"Appealing to my ego? You know me too well Porthos!" his friend placed a hand over his heart as he grinned and shouldered the case.

But Porthos didn't miss the telltale lines at the corners of his friend's mouth that told him Aramis wasn't happy with the plan and the big man knew it had nothing to do with the loss of the best vantage point. His friend didn't like that he would essentially be left blind on the outside since Athos and Porthos could not wear the headsets inside the hotel. They wouldn't be able to communicate as they were used to in these assignments.

"But I'm a part of this team," Laurent crossed his arms before his chest and firmly planted himself in the space between the open door of the car; effectively blocking their way to the equipment on the car seat beyond.

They did not have the time for this, or the patience Porthos decided.

"And Athos' the leader of this team," he pointed out, "his word is the law."

"So you're like a monarch?" Laurent snapped.

"A benevolent dictator," Athos replied.

Porthos secured his weapon in his belt at the small of his back and adjusted his shirt over it with a grin. It wasn't the man's fault the Captain had stuck him with their team, but his attitude wasn't helping him either. The new addition to their team looked from him to Aramis and clenched his jaw shut when the sniper winked at him.

"Think of it as participant observation," Aramis said, "You participate and observe from the car,"

"Treville said that I –"

Porthos cringed at the words; the poor man was only digging himself a deeper grave. He shook his head as Aramis made a show of looking around.

"I don't see Treville here, do you?" he leaned forward until he was enough in the man's personal space to have him bending backwards, Porthos hated the suddenly violent glint in Aramis' eyes as he spoke next, "and I don't think you'll be telling on us would you?"

Laurent nodded, then shook his head, then nodded again.

Porthos couldn't blame him and glanced towards Athos. It was times like these, when Aramis let the brutality reflect in him that the two of them were reminded of just what horrors their brother had witnessed in his life. But then Aramis smirked and it had that familiar playful curl to it.

The tense lines of Athos' shoulders eased.

Porthos felt the clenching around his heart loosen.

He chuckled as Laurent flinched when Aramis reached towards him, cringing when the hand moved past him. Aramis picked up the headset in the car seat behind Laurent and with a grin like a vampire tasting first blood he tucked the plastic band around the new comer's neck.

"See, you get to use the cool gadgets," he leaned back with an easy laugh, "and they don't."

"About that," Porthos pulled out his mobile phone and the second pressed speed dial.

He watched Aramis pull out his mobile phone and roll his eyes. The sniper answered the call with a resigned,

"Who's this?"

"Common sense," Porthos grinned, "I'll keep it on call while we're in there."

"Not what we're used to but it's the best option we have," Athos nodded.

Aramis' smiled pocketed his phone before pointing first at Athos and then at Porthos.

"Don't go in until I'm in position," he said.

"And don't get trigger happy," Athos reminded him, "with any luck you won't have to fire a single shot today."

* * *

The main room had a moldy stench about it that was edged with the sourness of cheap wine enough to make him swallow back the gag reflex. Yet the bar was empty under the murky lights save for the barkeep wiping down a glass with a stained cloth. Pale glow of the morning fused through from the foggy glass of the closed window, casting a smudged shadow of the spiral staircase set in the middle of the room.

Tucking his laptop under his arm he weaved through the tables, a few of which were occupied by men in twos and threes. He followed Dujon to the table set by the far wall where sat a man bulging out of his chair as he devoured the breakfast spread before him.

"He's here boss,"

Mendoza spared them a glance as he cleaned his plate; a grunt of acknowledgement followed before he swallowed, smacked his greasy lips and brushed the crumbs off his thick chin.

"Yes, The Hound is it?"

The young man raised an eyebrow.

"Is there another hacker you've asked to this dump?"

"Are you as good as they say?"

"I don't know what _they_ say and I'm not going to waste my time trying to find out," the Hound pulled himself to stand straighter, "do you require my expertise or not?"

A smile slithered onto Mendoza's face, the young hacker suppressed a shudder as it reached the man's eyes where a strange sense of cruelty lingered. Unbidden in his thoughts came another set of eyes, the blue depths of which he had searched for this same sentiment; it hadn't been there. He clenched his teeth and tightened his grip on his laptop.

"I see I'm not needed here," the Hound said.

He had only taken a few steps away from Mendoza's table when his path was blocked. He glanced up at the man who up until a few seconds ago had been nursing a mug of coffee at his table. His friend was flanking him and the hacker suddenly realized that every patron in the main room was on his feet. The hacker counted seven men, each one glaring at him.

"Au contraire young man, we do need your talent very much," Mendoza smirked.

The man hefted out of the chair and nodded at Dujon. The young hacker found himself being herded after Mendoza as he lumbered up the spiral staircase, the wrought iron shuddering under his weight. Mendoza's men followed and the small group filed through the narrow corridor that had a line of doors on one side and open windows on the other. The Hound shivered slightly as he was led into the room at the far end. The stale dusty air of a space rarely used tickled his throat and he wondered if he could open the only small window that was there.

Mendoza nodded towards the chair and the desk that were the only furniture present.

"Your work station," he said.

The young man traced a finger over the desk and found the tip caked with dirt.

"Charming," he grimaced.

Mendoza nodded to the briefcase set by the table.

"Your payment,"

He clenched his jaw and offered a clipped nod. What he was about to do would pay him two fold other than the money Mendoza was giving him. If all went according to his plan, by the end of it he would have had his revenge on Athos, he would have a nice sum to donate to the children's hospital and he would be leaving a nasty surprise for the arms ring Mendoza had set up in this city.

"You are sure that this person you're channeling my money through is safe?"

"Athos has family out of the country, by the time any suspicion arises the money trail would have gone cold," he opened his laptop and booted it up. Of course he didn't tell Mendoza that he planned to expose him and Athos as partners by this money transfer. He was leaving bread crumbs for the authority that would end up with Mendoza and Athos both behind bars.

The Hound set to work, only half paying attention to the man who came up to Mendoza and whispered something in his ear. From the corner of his eye he saw the large man stiffen and hiss back something that the hacker didn't catch. But he did note how the room emptied as the men moved out into the corridor and towards the staircase.

He had just made a passage into Athos' bank account and turned the laptop for Mendoza to enter his own account number when a booming laugh floated up from the main room.

"I'll have some eggs and coffee, what about you Athos? And no alcohol this early for you!"

Athos.

The man had said Athos.

Athos was here.

The Hound stared through the open door at the corridor where the voice had echoed out from below. .

He looked to Mendoza, eyes wide in shock as the man glared back.

It occurred to him belatedly that he had let slip Athos' name.

"You don't mind if we take a look upstairs? We'll need a room for our stay in London," this time the voice was low but he had a feeling that it was the screaming silence in the hotel that had carried the words up to them.

"Dujon," Mendoza said.

And then he heard the staircase rattle.

* * *

Porthos watched the small object roll down the stairs, recognized what it was a second later and yanked Athos down from the few steps he had taken up the staircase. Blinding white light followed the ringing in his ears as the flash bomb went off even as Athos fell on his side. It was only through instincts that the big man managed to roll over his friend to keep him from the assault he knew would follow.

The world sloshed about him in myriad of washed out colours and he was distantly aware of Athos trying to get him off himself. But he was only focused on the ping of bullets that was too close to comfort and the deep seeded need to protect his brother.

He hissed when a trail of fire scorched a path through his bicep.

Porthos didn't hear Athos curse, didn't notice Athos grabbing the weapon from the big man's back before he forced his face over Porthos' shoulder and snaking an arm out he returned fire.

"Porthos? Porthos you with me?"

The voice was barely audible against the ringing in his ears.

"Yeah," he raised himself onto shaky arms, " 'm here."

With a grunt he flopped back down on his friend when Athos' other arm moved to shield his head as another ping sounded. The retort of the weapon in his friend's hand followed and sent his gut churning. Porthos groaned and realized that the arm Athos had about his head was pressing against his ear with the hand cupped against the other one in an attempt to muffle the sounds and ease his dazed state.

That was why it took him a second to realize that the gunshots were distant now and that his friend had stopped firing from where he was pinned under him.

"Oh thank you Aramis," Athos breathed out.

Porthos flopped onto his side and tried to keep the rising bile down. With a groan he landed onto his back and scanned the area around them before clenching his eyes shut. He didn't need to move his gaze, the world was moving enough around him. His mind belatedly told him that the waiters and barkeep had disappeared in the commotion.

He just wished they wouldn't bring trouble back to them.

Porthos felt his friend patting his stomach before clumsily reaching for the mobile tucked in his pocket. He opened his eyes again and hazily watched Athos smirk as he pressed the mobile it to his ear.

"About time," he said.

* * *

Aramis was lying on his front, wondering if the dust stains would come out of his jacket and heroically refraining from reaching into his pocket for the lollipop, the one he had brought along for his morning sugar fix. He watched through his scope as his friends entered the building before shifting his view to the upper corridor of the hotel that was visible though the line of open windows.

His breath plumed out over the cold metal of his weapon, but his numbing fingers were steady over the trigger as he glanced at his mobile phone that he had propped up before him.

His first clue was the movement on the upper corridor. Aramis didn't like the way the men were converging towards the edge of railing that he assumed marked a staircase.

And then came the bang and grunt from Porthos' phone.

"Charon, Flea get in there and get them out," he spoke into the head piece, "Laurent bring the car to the curb,"

He reached for his phone and pressed it to his ear that wasn't linked to the headset. Lining a shot he fired. It didn't hit anyone but the warning worked. Mendoza's men ducked and stopped firing down the circular railing.

"We were not assigned sight A and you don't give orders to Team Two," Rochefort's voice came in his ear.

"Team One still has point on this one,"

"But Athos is the leader and he is–"

"I'm still a part of Team One that is taking point here so get in there and get them out," he fired again when a couple of men dared to rise again, "or you'll be meeting some unfriendly friendly fire Rochefort."

He listened for his brothers on the other end of the phone even as he spoke in the headset.

"Ninon?"

"I got it," said the woman.

As Ninon fired a warning shot through another window to keep the men on guard, Aramis forced himself to not demand a reply from the phone stuck to his ear. Distraction in the field was more fatal that any bullet he knew that, but he couldn't deny the fear coiling in his belly.

"We're going in," Flea's voice came over the communication link.

"Watch your backs, I don't have eyes in the ground floor," Aramis told them even as he tuned into the rustle he heard from the phone, "Eyes on the back door Rochefort, we don't want them getting reinforcements" he spoke into the headset.

A grunt of acknowledgement was all he got but Aramis decided not to push. it He held his breath when he heard a gasp through the phone and fired another warning shot.

"About time," Athos' voice came through.

Shoving down the tremor in his voice he forced a smile in it instead.

"Having a party without me Athos?" he asked, "that's low,"

"Thanks for crashing it though,"

"How bad are we talking?" he asked.

"Flash bomb, Porthos got the brunt of it," Athos told him, "I think a bullet grazed him too."

"Where?"

"Arm,"

"He's responding?"

"Now he is,"

"I'm fine! Quit poking it!" Porthos' loud growl came through the phone, the ringing in the big man's ears evident by his loud voice, " 'm fine 'Mis! It's a scratch!"

"It's a graze," Athos corrected him.

"Stop touching it!"

Relief flooded him at the sound of the argument. As long as his brothers were talking he had proof that they were relatively fine. And the fact that neither of them was slurring words settled Aramis nerves enough to shift his focus to the two he had sent in to get his friends out.

"We got 'em," Charon spoke in the communication link, "heading out now."

"Laurent the car?" Aramis asked.

"I'm here,"

"And what about you Athos?" Aramis silently urged them to move out already, "and don't lie to me, you're in pain."

"Thank you for pointing it out to me,"

"Athos,"

"It's my ankle,"

"Now was that so hard to say?" he smirked and glanced down in the street as the four figures staggered out of the hotel door.

By now he was sure the police would on the way and Leon would likely have their hide for this, but since they were going to be skinned for this any way he fired another warning shot through the upper windows of the hotel.

"Rochefort?"

"I have a runner,"

"Let it go," Aramis told him.

"I can catch him,"

"Rochefort abort!"

But the man made no reply and Aramis cursed under his breath, he was going to strangle that man. He grit his teeth and ordered Ninon to pack it.

"You leave first," he said, "I'll follow."

"And Rochefort?"

"I'll keep them occupied as long as I can," he said.

Aramis took another shot and the men peeking over the window ledge ducked. It was a good thing the men weren't firing blindly out towards him he decided. He was sure it wasn't to keep innocents safe from stray bullets; Mendoza would just not want any unnecessary murder traced back to him.

"Aramis," Athos voice was a warning and a question rolled into one.

"You have a talent my friend," he grinned, "don't put pressure on that foot and no I don't need to see you to know what you're up to."

He could easily picture his friend scowl and try to stand on his own feet. Pulling away from the phone, he spoke in the communication link instead.

"Flea how bad is Porthos?"

"Not too bad considering,"

"Ninon?"

"I'm almost out."

"Laurent?"

"I got them,"

"Take them straight to the hospital," Aramis ordered, "don't wait for me at the rendezvous,"

"Aramis," Athos snapped in his other ear.

"Still here mon frère,"

"We're not leaving without you,"

"Yes you are,"

Distantly he heard the police sirens approaching and Aramis hurried to pack up, his phone pressed between his ear and his shoulder. The argument on the other end was echoing in both his ears simultaneously and he couldn't understand a thing.

Closing the rifle case he gave as shrill a whistle as he could without giving away his position. The silence that followed was a pleasure. Aramis smirked to himself.

"Laurent you're at the wheel?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Then get them out of here," he pulled off the headset and turned to the phone, "I'll meet you at the hospital Athos."

There was a pause and Aramis wished he was not the one causing the strain in his friend that he could feel through the piece of technology next to his ear. Porthos was hurt, he knew so was Athos, it wasn't fair that he was asking the man to leave him behind on top of all that.

"I will meet you there," he repeated.

"You better," Athos' voice was tight.

And then he cut the call.

* * *

It was purely instincts that he ducked when the firing started. But Mendoza was having none of it. The Hound watched him heave to his feet and move towards the door, stepping into the corridor. Two shots, one after the other struck the wall before the man; paint and plaster spraying on his face.

Growling and cursing Mendoza staggered back into the room.

"YOU!" a thick finger pointed his way, "You brought him here! Who are you working for? Did the police send you in?"

The young hacker closed his laptop and back tracked as Mendoza snarled and lurched forwards. Dodging the man barreling towards him he ducked under the wild swipe of Dujon and came face to face with the dark muzzle of the gun that Mendoza had pointed at him.

"Are you another one of Cornet's men?" Mendoza demanded.

He pressed back into the wall and tried not to flinch at the sound sporadic firing that echoed out to him. His mind went to the switchblade he carried and not for the first time in his life the young man lamented the limit to his violet streak.

He didn't like the sight of blood.

He definitely didn't like the sight of his own blood.

Especially with the knowledge that it should not be out in the open and visible to him.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he ground out.

His heart had raced up to his throat and his mind was searching for a way out, going through possible exits at a mile a minute.

"Don't lie to me!" Mendoza covered the short distance between them.

The man's wide eyes and heaving breath filled his vision as the young hacker discounted the idea of a sprint out the door; Mendoza's men were that way. He could go for the wide open window of the corridor but then the shooter outside would take him out.

His eyes snapped back down as the muzzle of the weapon pressed against his sternum.

"You and this Athos, you work for Cornet?"

The Hound pulled his gaze up, turned his attention away from the spit gathering at the corners of Mendoza's mouth and flicked it towards the small closed window in the room.

He was aware of Dujon beside him but he knew the man wasn't armed.

The young man tightened his hold on his laptop and mourned its possible loss for a second; it wasn't his favorite but still a big sacrifice to save his life he decided.

A smirk appeared on The Hound's face and Mendoza stepped back in surprise.

The young hacker swung back his laptop and slammed it against the hand holding the weapon. Amidst the yelling and cursing he dove for the briefcase sitting by the desk, clasped it before his bent head and ran into the window.

A split second sound of breaking glass enveloped him and then he had hit the ground too soon.

Had hit the ground too hard.

His lungs paused as the shock vibrated through his bones.

The Hound gasped.

Thanking his luck that hotel was a low scale building.

His chest ached.

"Guess the movies forget this part," he groaned and pushed himself up.

He forced his breathing to not get too deep; he was pretty sure he had bruised his ribs. The young man refused to believe it could be worse.

"Hey! Stop!"

From the corner of his eye he saw a yellow headed figure coming towards him. His shoes scrabbled onto broken glass as he clutched the briefcase in a shaky hand and pushed himself into a run. Fear shoved away any lingering pain and adrenaline surged in his veins as he sped up.

"Stop!" the man after him yelled.

The young man sprinted across the narrow strip that was between Mendoza's properties and the river and through the broader empty patch of the store beyond, before he turned into the alley on the other side of the building. The footfalls behind were gaining on him and he dashed across the street as the police sirens neared.

His pursuer remained on his tail as he rushed into the alley beyond. Breathing heavily he eyed the open dumpster and the barrier of wire mesh beyond. Throwing a smirk over his shoulder at the man at the mouth of the alley he took a running jump onto the dumpster, wadded into to get to the other edge and used its height to cross the barrier.

His breath left him with a woosh as he landed on the other side.

Distantly he thought he heard the man behind him arguing with another man but The Hound didn't wait to see. Instead he ran across the street and onto the sidewalk on the other side. He only glanced back the way he had arrived as he stepped onto the road to cross the curb.

He never saw the bright red vespa that rammed into him.

Hot white pain exploded in his side.

Lanced from his chest down to his hip…

 _…_ _the kicks are relentless._

 _They are too many for him to handle alone. He had given up on putting up a fight long ago; his only strategy is to keep from getting a concussion. Curling into a ball as tight as he could the boy wraps his arms around his head._

 _His tormentors don't miss their mark often._

 _Another hit to his ribs and he gasps._

 _But then a voice._

 _A woman's voice and the hits cease._

 _He ventures his face out of his arms and peeks up blearily._

 _"_ _Find Athos," the woman says, "he's the one behind Alexander d'Artagnan's murder."_

 _Athos…_

…"Athos," he groaned.

"Is that your name? Athos? Hold still please," a woman was speaking to him.

The voice was not the one from his memories. Small hands eased him onto his side and sheer curiosity forced him to blink his eyes open. Auburn curls from under a bright red helmet framed a worried face. The cobalt blue eyes were filled with worry as they looked down at him.

"Hi there," she smiled.

He stopped breathing for an entirely different reason this time around. The smile was blinding.

"Can you hear me Athos?"

"Huh?"

"Athos?"

He groaned and forced himself up despite the woman's protests.

" 'm not Athos," he said.

He squinted at the woman before him before his eyes drifted to the red scooter beyond. His mind lazily joined the dots and he groaned again.

"Stop moving around and it might hurt less," the woman said, "I'm Constance, I'm a nurse and I can help you."

"You hit me?" he asked.

"Well yes," she bit her lip, "but you weren't watching where you were going either."

He started to nod but decided against it when the street bobbed in his view.

"Can you tell me your name?" Constance asked.

"No,"

"Concussion then,"

"No I mean –" he was too tired to explain himself.

Tapping into his last reserves of fortitude he clasped the briefcase and forced himself to his feet. Constance steadied him as he swayed; he flashed her a smile but knew it came out as grimace if the woman's expressive eyes were to go by.

"Sit down,"

"I haffta get to Athos," he said.

"You need to wait for the ambulance,"

"No ambulance, no hospitals,"

"Look you're in no condition to be roaming about in the streets!" Constance held him still and raised the hem of his shirt, "you're probably bleeding internally –"

"Hey!" The Hound managed an indignant glare and pushed himself away from her.

Constance arched a brow and glared right back.

He decided he had never met a woman this beautiful or this frisky as he dodged the oncoming fingers.

"For the love of –!" the woman snapped, "just sit down you idiot!"

"No!"

"You're face is all scratched, you're bleeding from your hairline, your breathing is all wrong and you stink like something the cat had dragged through her litter box. But so help me I will not have you die on the roadside because you refused medical attention!"

And for the first time in his life he knew he was in love.

That was his last thought as the world blacked out.

* * *

 **TBC**

 **a HUGE thank you to all the lovely people who read, follow, favorite and review this story. The people who left me your thoughts on the first chapter, THANK YOU, it was great and absolutely amazing feeling to see you all still interested in the 'verse. Highly, highly motivating. And a special Thank you to Clara and Ruth, my guest reviewers I cannot thank personally. You all are amazing!**


	3. Chapter 3

He shouldn't have to be doing this; his place was beside Athos and Porthos. The sound of those two under gunfire still echoed in the tremors under his skin and the need to be beside them right now was a harsh tug in his chest that left seething as he turned into the alley.

He saw the slim figure drop down on the other side of the barrier in an ungraceful heap before it scrambled off the briefcase it carried and dashed out across the street beyond. In three strides Aramis crossed the distance to Rochefort and grabbing the man stuck halfway up the wire mesh barrier he hauled him down with a jerk.

The man shook him off with a snarl, locked his hand around the inside of Aramis' elbow and shoved him into the nearest wall, aiming a punch to the side of his head.

Aramis ducked under the fist and grabbing back the arm holding him, he kicked the man in the shin and stepping behind Rochefort he twisted the arm back and up even as he pushed the man chest first into the wall; pinning him there with all his weight behind the arm across the back of Rocheforts' neck.

"What the hell is your problem?" the man in his hold wriggled and scowled.

"It's about 5'8", blond, blue eyed and currently the reason I'm not with my injured friends,"

Rochefort snorted in derision, lips pulling back as he sneered from where his face was pressed against the cold concrete.

"It's not like they're dying," he said.

Aramis leaned closer to the man, cold violence seeping into his voice at the thought of his friend's deaths.

"You better hope they're not," he said, "or my time spent in watching your back would be for nothing,"

He felt the man stiffen, the mocking grin slipped as the blue eyes widened when Aramis increased the pressure on Rochefort's neck and the man clenched his mouth shut at the implicit threat. Aramis smirked and stepped back from him. With the ease of one having to deal with it for a long time he shoved aside the bloodlust that lurked in the corners of his mind, coming to the fore whenever it sniffed danger for the ones he called his own.

Rochefort turned around but remained with his back pressed against the wall, contempt pulling his face in a deep snarl as he spat on the ground near Aramis shoes. Hate filled blue eyes met the brown ones in challenge.

"Why watch my back Aramis? What do you care if I die?"

Aramis' hand curled into a fist at his side…

… _He's freezing his butt even through the insulated material of his uniform trousers, and yet the heady smell of crisp snow makes him grin despite of it all._

" _We're seniors," Marsac shakes his head, "can you believe that? We are supposed to be the experienced one here. Damn that just makes me feel old."_

 _He looks away from the camp where the trainee snipers are getting ready for their first night here and glances at his friend sitting beside him. Their backs are against the tree and he presses his elbow back against the tree bark, thumping his fist at the perfect point._

 _Marsac spewing profanities rings out over the clearing amidst Aramis' own laughter as his friend shudders and wriggles to free himself of the snow that had landed on him from the branches above…_

…He pulled in a sharp breath and let it go slowly. Twenty men were dead on his watch and that was more than enough to last him a lifetime. Aramis grabbed the collar of the man before him and without a word shoved him ahead of him towards the mouth of the alley.

There will be no more deaths of those he was responsible for, even if that meant he had to protect the likes of Rochefort.

Picking up the long case from where he had set it down Aramis shouldered it, one hand clasping tight onto the strap cutting into his skin. As the police converged onto Mendoza's hotel he followed Rochefort out onto the sidewalk. There was a hospital he needed to be at.

* * *

… _he wakes up to the sound of the main door crashing open. His clothes are still damp and the rain outside beats relentlessly against the window. His father's pale cold face swims before his eyes, his lips blue and forever stilled, never to smile again._

 _He wipes at his eyes and sits up at the sound of footsteps beyond his door, frowning in the darkness of his room. The teenager frowns at the screech of the couch being moved and the rattle of drawers in the bureau in his father's room. His fingers tighten around the packet the morgue had given him of his father's belongings. His gaze falls on the crimson card with an embossed 'C' pressed to the clear plastic and knows that it doesn't belong to his father._

 _There are voices outside now._

 _His numbed senses urge him to move, prick at him to get out of the danger he just knows he is in. The boy stumbles to his feet and to the window. He is soaked afresh as he steps onto the fire-escape and the cold outside snaps his frozen mind to work._

 _He waits atop the roof for the men to leave, for the car to disappear into the sheets of rain beyond his street. It is only then that he goes back to his ransacked apartment. His father's laptop is missing, so is his own and the CPU of the desktop from his father's study had been taken too. The boy only packs some of his clothes, food and the money that the intruders had surprisingly not touched. He shoves it all in one of the duffle bags around the one family heirloom he cannot part with._

 _Hefting his backpack and picking up the duffel he walks out of the apartment without a glance back, the door left open behind him…_

…he let out a soft breath.

Blinking up he wondered why he was so close to the stadium lights and blinked again. The bright flare morphed into fluorescent lights set in a false ceiling and it took him a second to tune into the subdued rush about him. It was the smell of antiseptic that finally registered and he sat up abruptly, hissing at the pull on the IV in his hand.

"Oh good you're awake," she popped into his view in a manner that was quickly becoming familiar.

"Constance," he smiled, bright and honest.

"So your memory is working then," she grinned.

And then proceeded to burn his retinas with her penlight. He flinched and backed away, only for the light to follow as a small hand grabbed his chin and held his face. He could have sworn he heard the woman chuckle.

"Hold still,"

"You keep saying that," he muttered.

"I wouldn't have to if you weren't this fidgety,"

"I'm not fidgety," he shook his head out of her grasp and clenched his eyes shit at the sudden churning of the world. The young man raised his hand where the IV was stuck.

"Can you get this off me?"

He desperately hoped it wasn't pain medication they were pumping him full of. But the ache in his chest was already blunted and his head felt a bit like a giant glob of wet cotton on his shoulders and he was pretty sure the drab colours about him were not supposed to blur like that and no, everything wasn't drab, the woman before him certainly wasn't. She was beauty personified even with that pale pink uniform that clashed with her red curls. She was the most – he shook his head vehemently.

This was not happening; no he was not going there.

 _ **Focus!**_ he ordered his mind.

Constance looked at him again and his grin was automatic.

"We didn't want to give you anything heavy until you came around," she tucked the light away and crossed her arms before her chest before looking down at him, "now can you tell me your name? And if there's any medication you may be allergic to?"

A small smile was playing on her lips and he was mesmerized by that.

 _ **No, no!**_ he would have smacked his brain physically if he had been able to just so that he could get his attention on track. His hands clenched into fists and the jab of needle in his skin had him looking down.

"Get me off this please," he reached for the tape at the back of his hand, breath picking pace, "can't have pain-meds, get it off."

He couldn't risk it; he wouldn't risk taking pain medication. He would be blabbering out his thoughts in a matter of minutes, it had been funny when he was a child but now his ramblings could cost him his life if the audience was wrong. His fingers found the edge of the tape and pulled.

"Hey, hey calm down," Constance stayed his hand, "let me help you,"

"Get. It. Out," he growled through his teeth.

The look of surprised hurt as she moved to do what he asked wound him in a way he hadn't expected. She had only been trying to help him and she was the reason he wasn't in the clutches of that mad yellow haired man chasing him. Constance had saved him when she had driven her scooter into his side.

Constance with that fierce spark in her eyes, that breathtaking smile and the amazing determination; The Hound smiled to himself.

He shook his head abruptly and brought his thoughts to a screeching halt.

He mentally cursed the medication already in his bloodstream and rubbing a hand over his mouth he hoped that he had not voiced his thoughts out loud. He ran his hand through his hair, pulling a bit at the strands between his fingers and used the sting against his scalp to force his wandering mind into order. There were things he needed to focus on. There was something he had been carrying.

"My briefcase," he swung his legs down ready to go in search of it, "my briefcase where is it?"

Constance raised a brow and nodded towards the foot of his bed. He grabbed at the handle and pulled close the slightly dented bag. He was distantly aware that he may be looking suspicious but he did not want questions to arise in case the amount of money he was carrying in there came to light. The Hound raised his chin and stared back in defiance at the woman who had her lips pursed into a thin line.

He was being thankless; he knew that and his mind belatedly pointed out that his father had taught him better. The young man let his shoulders drop, his gaze lowered and flicked from the floor to his shoes that he noticed were still on his feet. He looked up when his shirt landed in his lap.

"I'll get the doctor,"

"Constance wait," he blurted out before she could leave.

The nurse turned back to him with a pointed glare.

"Thank you," he said, eyes bright with all the gratitude he felt until his gaze dropped again, "and I'm sorry."

She nodded at him before disappearing behind the curtain and he was left wondering if he would ever get to see her again, more than surprised when he realized that he wanted to see her again. With a sigh that hurt his aching ribs he winced back into his shirt and buttoned it close over the bandage covering his chest. Even with the short time given to him he had done all he had set out to do the day Mendoza had contacted him. He had set things into motion that would see Mendoza's ring going down and Athos would go down with him, but relief wasn't forthcoming for The Hound.

The sense of satisfaction that he has assumed would be at the end of his revenge just wasn't there.

His father was still dead, he was still alone and still a criminal. His life hadn't turned around just because he had found a way to hurt the man responsible for Alexander d'Artagnan's death. A part of him knew that no matter what he did he would never be able to get back what he had lost but the rest of him was simply hurting.

Now that the medicine in his blood had lowered the defenses around his mind, pain that he had never really faced leaked out to the surface it had been lurking just below. The young man wiped his suddenly wet eyes and felt the side of his leg where he kept his switchblade.

He knew where Athos worked.

The Hound had now one thing left to do.

* * *

The curtain pulled back with a rattle and a swish.

"Porthos?" he asked.

"At the cost of repeating myself for the seventh time he's fine, they're bringing him in from the C.T scan as we speak," Ninon smiled as she stepped closed the curtain behind her and handed a glass of water to Athos, "and for the tenth time it was just a precaution Athos, don't look like that."

"No concussion?"

"None diagnosed so far,"

"The gunshot wound?"

"They took care of it first," Ninon smirked slightly, "he was in the bed right beside yours remember,"

"There's still blood-loss to account for," he said, "and infections."

He wished Aramis was here, as much as he appreciated the woman keeping him updated he could not bring himself to trust her understanding of the situation.

Ninon reached forwards and patted his hand; it took all of his will power to not pull it away. She was smart, a good shot with a rifle and there had been mutual attraction from the moment she had looked him in the eye and smirked. But then she had kissed him at the end-of-the-first-week party for the new recruits and to Athos' horror he had liked that that about her.

But he had liked that about _**her**_ too, when they had met in class, when she pointedly chose to sit next to him, when she had relentlessly drawn him out from the misery of missing his friends and when she had turned to him in the corridor one day…

… " _Athos d'La Fere I'm going to kiss you now," and she proceeds to do just that._

 _Her green eyes are stars themselves when she leans back._

" _Anne," he smiles…_

…clenching his hand into a fist he stiffened against the pillow at his back and subtly pushed back against it. His eyes widened at the hand waving before his face. Ninon frowned at him and squeezed his hand in what he assumed was reassurance.

"Are you sure you're not the one with the concussion?" she asked.

His fingers instinctually reached for the bruise at the side of his head and he grimaced when they made contact. He hadn't even been aware that he had hit his head until the doctor had poked at it.

"I'm fine,"

"He has a hard head," came the voice from behind Ninon, "and delicate feet apparently,"

That voice; strong, steady and teasing, was the best medicine he could have hoped for.

"I can still kick you for escaping the nurse charged with your care," Athos felt a smile pull at his lips as Porthos scowled.

The relief at seeing the big man stable on his feet was tinged with worry at seeing him ease down at the edge of the bed where Athos' swollen and bandaged ankle was propped up. He didn't miss the deliberate slowness with which his friend turned his head to face him.

"She wanted to stick me into a wheelchair," Porthos looked somewhere between horrified and disgusted, "on the way back too."

"You're still unbalanced," Ninon pointed out.

"Aren't we all?" he asked.

Ninon rolled her eyes but Porthos' grin was infectious. Even through its brightness Athos was aware of the way his friend's dark eyes scanned him over, searching for injuries and reading every line of his posture just as he had been studying his friend before.

"Ninon could you find Flea and tell her I'm fine?" Porthos turned to the woman, "and please don't let her come back here, she'll probably break my legs just to make sure I learn to stay in the wheelchair when asked to,"

"I can give it a try," she told him as she made to step out of the curtained area but stopped to look back at them one more time, "I'm glad you two are alright," she said.

Athos wondered how Rochefort was handling this newcomer in his team, he had already hated that Flea and Charon were friends with Porthos. It seemed his cousin couldn't catch a break where his teams' likes and dislikes were concerned.

A tap on his hand had Athos looking down.

Porthos tapped the back of his hand again, the hand that had fisted into the bed-sheet with enough force to turn his knuckles white.

"She's gone now," Porthos said.

Athos looked up at his friend as something warm unfurled in his chest and he smiled even as he shook his head. Not really surprised that his brother had noticed his discomfort and acted according to those same protective instincts that had made him cover Athos with his body to keep him safe from gunfire.

He slowly unclenched his fist as his heart clenched for a completely different reason this time around. His eyes went to the thick bandage on his friend's arm and try as he might no words came to his mind. Instead he found himself looking to his friend's face again.

Porthos tapped his own ear and looked Athos right in the eyes.

"This could have been worse if not for you," he said before he tapped the wound on his arm, "and this could have been someplace else if you hadn't done what you did."

"Not the same," Athos said and raised his hand to stop him before he could refute, "but if our places had been reversed in that situation, I wouldn't have given it a second thought."

Because that was simply the way they were.

"No regrets," Porthos grinned.

* * *

"Team two is coming in, I've sent Laurent back with them," he spoke into the phone as he jogged through the parking lot of the hospital.

"You were supposed to directly come to the office,"

"I can't Captain," and Aramis was not going to apologize for that, if the man expected him to follow on that order then he mused the Captain didn't know him at all.

The silence on the other end was foreboding.

Aramis stopped at the reception of the emergency ward.

"I'll be coming back with my team," he said plainly before a smirk curled at the edge of his lips, "don't think either of them would be in any condition to drive a car,"

Taking the excuse for a way to acquiescence as it was, the man on the other end of the line accepted.

"I'll see you in my office," with that the Captain cut the call.

Aramis wasted no time to spare it a thought, his eyes set on the doctor standing in the middle of the waiting area who was looking like a particularly irritated stork. Weaving through crowd of ailing and sniffling Aramis made it over to the man just as Doctor Lemay's eyes alighted on him.

"Aramis, did you see a young man outside? Dark eyes, dark hair – longish, would have been moving slowly and probably hunched forwards a bit."

"There may have been flying white elephants in tutus out there and I'd have missed them,"

Lemay arched a brow as he gave one last look around and shrugged in defeat. He turned his attention back to the man beside him.

"Those two are fine in case you wanted to recheck on the giant flight inclined mammals in our parking lot," he said as he stepped back into the emergency room, "a little banged up but not in any imminent danger of keeling over."

Aramis fell in stride with him as they made their way past the rows of beds, some of them closed off behind blue curtains.

"There was a flash bomb," he said.

"Neither of them is concussed, but a hit to the vestibular system has left Porthos a bit off balanced,"

"Prognosis?"

"It's temporary, a few hours maybe,"

"Athos' ankle?"

"Typical inversion sprain, grade II," Lemay pulled back the curtain from around one of the beds; "he'll need to rest it properly since he's having trouble putting weight on it."

"And how would you know for sure when you wouldn't let me stand," Athos groused as he lifted the ice pack off his ankle.

"That's because you're waiting for him to let you stand unlike some of us," Porthos gave him a smug grin.

"I'll get your discharge papers," Lemay shook his head and left them to it.

Relief clogged his throat at the sight of the two men and Aramis felt his lungs loosen up at the proof before his eyes for all that he had heard and hoped. His brothers were indeed relatively well and coherent and it left him holding onto the back of the plastic chair before him.

Those few moments of silence between the bang and Athos' voice through the mobile phone finally eased off their hold over his heart.

"You hit your head," his eyes fixed to the side of Athos' face, a hint of accusation in his tone.

"I wasn't aware of it,"

The touch of apology in his explanation was not what gave Aramis a pause; it was the lingering shadows in his friend's eyes. Wisps of that haunted man who had tried his best to drown in alcohol years ago seemed to have found a way about Athos' visage now.

Aramis knew that look had something to with _**her**_ and he knew that these days only one person brought those memories to the surface. Although he would tease Athos mercilessly over it and he was sure the woman wasn't aware of the problems she had been causing but it still didn't abate the misery he felt for his friend.

"What did Ninon do now?" he asked.

Athos eyes rounded in surprise but Porthos only smiled slightly.

"She tried to assure him," said the big man.

Guilt raised his head at that, he should have been there to assure his friend, of all the people Aramis knew the best how worried Athos could get for their safety and he was one of the two people in the world who knew how to settle that for him.

He let go of the edge of the chair's backrest and ran a hand through his hair.

"I'm fine," Athos said.

It was the silent plea between the words asking to let it go and Aramis turned to Porthos with a frown.

"And you got shot," he accused mockingly, but the worry coming to the surface was honest, "five minutes into an assignment and you've earned yourself a gunshot wound,"

"Scratched,"

"Grazed," Athos corrected.

"How's that different?" Porthos demanded.

Aramis nudged the chair with the heel of his boot and sat down in it. Looking from one injured man to the other he swiped a hand down to his face and clasped the back of his neck to nip the twinge there.

"How did this happen?" he wanted to know.

It was a recon mission for crying out loud; only with their luck would they go in for inconspicuous information gathering in a small neglected hotel and come out of it wounded with half the city's police force converging on their mark.

"Porthos here saw the flash bomb and tackled me,"

"Athos returned fire until you stepped in,"

"Enlightening," Aramis smirked, "I'm sure The Captain would love to hear this succinct report,"

Athos and Porthos shared a look before turning to him; there was no way to miss the honest puzzlement in their faces. Aramis sat straighter, he had assumed they were being deliberately obtuse but the furrow between Porthos' eyebrows and the pinched corner's of Athos' eyes told him that his brother were genuinely struggling to form an explanation.

"We never got a chance to lay our eyes on Mendoza, let alone to find anything about Cornet." Athos said.

"They just dropped the flash bomb down the stairs as we were about to go up," Porthos nodded.

That made no sense at all, unless Mendoza knew about them. Aramis didn't like where this was going but the unspoken theory was clearly reflected in his friends' faces. Somehow Mendoza knew and that left a gnawing feeling in Aramis' gut. They all started a bit when Lemay cleared his throat pointedly before he handed a wad of papers to Aramis.

"You two are free to go," he said.

"And that means Lemay wouldn't give chase," Aramis grinned, "he has taken to tracking down wayward patients personally you know."

"I was looking for him as a favor to a friend, something that apparently friends do for each other."

It warmed him to hear the man quip back, the first time Aramis had met him George Lemay had been a nervous mess. With a grin Aramis pushed to his feet and threw an arm across the narrow shoulders of the doctor.

"You making friends, patients running away and bombs dropped willy-nilly down stairwells; what is the world coming to?"

"And don't forget the flying white elephants in tutus," Lemay added dryly.

* * *

He clasped his hands around the warm mug of coffee and glanced out the large window he was sitting next to. Beyond the inverted red letters painted on the glass and across the road was the building where he knew Athos worked. The main door set above the stairs was right in his view and his switch blade was now a burning weight in his pocket.

He would see Athos, coming in or going out, either way today he would see the man face to face no matter how many hours he had to wait out. Because he would kill the man, take from him irreversibly what he had taken from his father. Today Alexander d'Artagnan's son would have his revenge.

He wrapped his hands tighter around the mug in an effort to stop their trembling. The tips of his fingers had pressed white only for the shaking to shift up his arms. The young man pressed his elbows onto the table top and stared out the window, not wanting to miss his chance.

He jiggled his knee.

Took a sip of his coffee.

Jiggled his knee again and bumped into the briefcase propped by his feet.

The memory of gunshots was loud in his ears and a part of him wondered if this was the right, if he was not just reacting to stress, adrenalin and the medication in his blood. Drawing a hand through his hair he wiped his shaky fingers down his face.

He couldn't back out now.

He will do this or he would spend the rest of his life regretting the moment of reckless abandon that was offered to him by his current state.

He saw a car stop at the edge of the ramp that led to the basement of the building on the other side of the road. He straightened when the driver got out first, followed by the man in the back who helped out the one in the front passenger seat.

The big man shifted away from the car and The Hound shot to his feet at the sight.

It was Athos who the larger man was helping out of the car.

Throwing likely more than twenty times the money he owed onto the table, the young man grabbed his briefcase and headed out. Crossing the road, with the switch blade in one hand he came up behind Athos on the side walk. His larger friend was a few steps ahead of him and taking the chance The Hound placed the edge of his blade against the side of the man's neck.

His enemy stilled.

"You are Athos? Olivier d'Athos d'La Fere?" asked The Hound.

"Yes…"

His world faded out save for the man before him.

And the young man stepped back but not too far, with his blade still touching the man's throat he let Athos turn around slowly. The younger one wanted to see his face, he wanted to look in the eyes of the man he hated, wanted to see his fear and pain as he stood over the man as his executioner.

And then with his hands raised by his side the man turned his blue gaze onto him.

"I'm Charles d'Artagnan of Lupiac from Gascony" the declaration came out soft against the sudden lump in his throat.

He was suddenly more present, identifying himself making the pain of his experiences just a bit more sharp, it made his anger cut a bit too deep. How long had it been since he had mentioned his name he wondered but dared not let his mind stray from the man before him.

He wanted this man to know, to see the child he had orphaned, to force him to put a face to the life he had destroyed.

The edge of his blade pressed Athos under the chin, forcing his face up a bit. The man looked defiant in the face of it all, his blue eyes calm as they bore into him.

D'Artagnan sucked in a breath through gritted teeth and swallowed hard.

"You killed my father," he blinked to clear the stinging in his eyes and steadied his hand, "prepare to die."

The blue eyes finally left his gaze and wondered over his face, roving over his features.

"I didn't know your father," Athos said.

"You deny that you murdered Alexander d'Artagnan?" it wrangled past his clenched jaw as he used all his will power to not just jab the blade in the man's neck.

"I've never heard of the man," Athos said, "I usually remember the name of the people I kill."

He could not believe the nerve of this man.

"LIAR!" it rode out on the rage burning in his gut and d'Artagnan lunged at Athos.

* * *

He found himself down the stairs and beside Aramis, the deceptive calm of his brother not hiding the hyper vigilance Porthos knew his brother was sharing with him at the moment. In a reflex ingrained into their very being, they had moved towards each other and Athos at the first sign of trouble.

The three of them against the world;

Always.

But Athos had asked them to stay out of it.

With a single glance he had assured them that he had got this and Porthos had to clench his fists by his sides to keep put when that mad kid lunged at his friend; blade slashing a hairsbreadth away from Athos' neck as the older man leaned back.

It left him wobbling slightly with his sprained ankle hovering above ground. But Athos caught the fist heading for his face and using his enemy's momentum to steady himself he trapped the arm against his side.

With is other hand he locked onto the wrist of hand swiping at him with the blade.

A twist of his grip and the switchblade fell even as the younger man hissed against the pain.

Athos still held the kid trapped in his hold until he stopped wriggling to free himself.

The wild dark eyes glared at him and Porthos was reminded of a cornered snake.

"I'm not the man you're looking for," Athos said.

"Liar,"

"Think what you wish but I have nothing to do with your father's murder,"

And being the noble idiot that his friend is he shoved the kid away and free. As d'Artagnan went staggering back and Athos risked touching the sidewalk with his toes, Porthos groaned internally.

"He should've knocked him out," he muttered to Aramis at his side.

"But this is more fun," Aramis flashed him a grin.

But their eyes never strayed from their friend where he was glaring down at the young man who looked coiled for an attack from where he was half crouched.

"You're a murderer and a liar," d'Artagnan snarled and pounced.

Athos sidestepped and catching his arm twisted it back and up, eliciting a chocked cry from the younger man before he shoved him away again. But d'Artagnan simply swung back around with right hook that Athos ducked under and delivered a hit to the younger man's face.

Porthos winced when the boy landed on his hands and knees, hard.

"Enough," Athos said.

* * *

It took a huge amount of his will power to not to sway where he stood.

The sprained ankle had knocked him off his usually sure footed stance and the sheer anger behind this young man's attack was threatening to smash him down onto the pavement. He had tried to not harm the deranged boy and hoped that he would stay down this time.

But much to Athos' surprise the damned kid scrambled back to his feet again, this time with the blade in his grasp.

With an enraged cry d'Artagnan lunged forwards.

Athos leaned back slightly, recognized his mistake a second too late and felt his foot slipping out from under him.

As the world tipped up before him he saw the ferocious hatred in those dark eyes and the gleam of sunlight d'Artagnan's blade.

He knew it would drive home into his gut this time around.

Or he would hit the pavement with his head.

But something solid met his back, abruptly breaking his fall.

Athos blinked up at Porthos grinning at him, his view shifting as his brother propped him back onto his good foot. Wincing slightly Athos stared at Aramis' back who had stepped before him, effectively stopping d'Artagnan's attack.

As Porthos shifted onto his side he heard d'Artagnan curse. The younger man was struggling to get his wrist free from Aramis but his restrainer only rolled his eyes.

"He said enough," Aramis said.

"Get out of my way you clown," d'Artagnan snapped.

"And what are you going to do about it my floppy haired loon?"

"I'll fight you then," d'Artagnan's jaw was set, "I'll fight you both,"

"Three," Porthos corrected.

Athos saw the fear flitting across the gaze that shifted to Porthos before the young man set his shoulders straight with a decisive nod.

"I'll fight all three of you,"

Porthos smirked.

Aramis grinned.

And Athos felt something almost like pride stir in him just before the boy twisted out of Aramis' hold and swung at Porthos. It took three seconds for the big man to lock both of d'Artagnan's arms behind his back. It was the half scream that followed as the boy went limp in Porthos' hold that pretty much gave Athos a heart attack.

"What the bloody hell?" Porthos shifted his feet to accommodate for the sudden dead weight.

Aramis helped him ease the boy down onto the sidewalk and Athos looked up to realize for the first time that there were other people around. Hobbling over to his friends he stared down at the narrow brown face that was eerily slack and felt a twang in his heart at the sight.

"Is he dead?" Porthos asked.

"No, passed out from the pain most likely," Aramis replied, "he'd been favoring his left side ever since this started"

"He had?" Porthos frowned.

"And his breathing had been erratic," Aramis checked the boy's pulse rate.

Porthos glanced up at Athos and they both shrugged in unison, neither of them having noticed any such thing. But when Aramis lifted the boy's shirt it was to expose the bandages underneath.

"Like I thought, he had hurt his ribs," Aramis said.

Porthos whistled softly, the surprise in his eyes tempered with respect as he looked up from the prone boy to his friend.

"That's Charles d'Artagnan," Athos shook his head and surprised even himself at the almost fondness in his tone.

"Help me with this Porthos," Aramis manhandled the insensate young man to his feet before turning around and crouching down before him.

Without a word Porthos helped their friend arrange d'Artagnan onto his back and Athos didn't miss the touch of warmth in Aramis' eyes as he adjusted his hands under the younger man's knees as he pushed to stand up. Athos retrieved the briefcase d'Artagnan had been carrying and leaned onto Porthos as they followed Aramis into the building; their young attacker secure on Aramis' back.

* * *

 **Okay, I had been terrified of touching the "d'Artagnan meeting the Inseparables" scene for the fear of ruining it. It's such an iconic and awesome moment and absolute perfection on screen. But this chapter finally happened and after much reworking and procrastinating and more reworking I finally made it through :)**

 **Thank you everyone who read, favorite and follow this story. Those of you who leave me reviews you're my lampposts on this journey I often lose my way on. Thank you to the dear guest reviewers, Debbie, Clara and Ruth.**

 **TBC**


	4. Chapter 4

People stared.

Confusion, surprise and curiosity followed them all the way to the interview room. Whispers trailed after but no one stopped them, or questioned or helped. Ignoring the impression of a choking fish that Laurent produced at the sight of them Athos reached out to lean against the wall and motioned for Porthos to go ahead and open the door for Aramis.

The boy was stirring lightly where he was draped on Aramis' back and Athos did not want him gaining consciousness into a position he could easily use to strangle his brother. Porthos hooked a chair with the toe of his boot and pulled it up for his friend to deposit his burden onto the seat while Athos checked his watch, limping over to take the other chair.

"We have about ninety seconds before the Captain comes here,"

"Any ideas how we'll explain this one?" Porthos tilted his head towards the limp form of the young man in the chair.

"Saying he followed us home definitely won't stick," Aramis leaned back with his hands on his lower back, "how about we're pet-sitting for a friend?"

"What did you do? Oh my –! Is he dead?" Laurent gaped from the open door.

"Yes Laurent we killed him and now we're lugging around the body to find a good place to dispose it off, any suggestions?"

The man blinked from d'Artagnan to Athos as if unsure of his words. With a shake of his head Porthos walked over and closed the door in the man's face; crossing his arms before him he leaned back against the wood grinning at the two of them.

"Best check him over for anymore weapons," Athos said.

And Aramis complied, but he only found some cash, a key, a mobile phone and a crumpled paper napkin in the boy's pockets. D'Artagnan groaned at the movement and their attention shifted to his face as his fingers twitched. Aramis tapped on his cheek only for the younger man to come around with a jerk. His hand wrapped wound the wrist that had been close to his face and dark eyes darted from the man closest to him to the farthest.

His eyes widening as Porthos stepped closer, clearly intent to help Aramis should the need be.

"What?" d'Artagnan's voice cracked, "Where –I –"

The raw fear that flashed in that gaze stoked every protective instinct he had and Athos got to his feet, needing to somehow ease the younger man's worry. He stopped in his tracks when d'Artagnan suddenly shot up from his chair and grabbing the edge of its backrest, heaved it up as he backtracked. He stopped only when he hit the wall behind him with the chair still held up before his chest.

"Where am I?" he looked about the room, "Where did you bring me?"

Athos looked from the eyes darting to find an exit to the wooden legs of the chair sticking out towards them.

"I had a dream like this once," he mused.

"Wasn't a dream, you were drunk and I was there," Aramis said, "pulled you back before you could meet the business end of a barstool."

"Was that where I used a melon as a dartboard and you as the melon stand?" Porthos turned to Aramis.

"That was the one I wish I was drunk for," Athos told them

"But it was more fun than the barstool one," Aramis shrugged, "And the melon juice did wonders for my hair,"

"We should do that again sometimes," Porthos grinned.

"Are you all insane?" d'Artagnan stared.

"Says the lunatic wielding a chair," the big man shook his head.

"I don't think you'll be able to swing it with those injured ribs," Aramis pointed out.

"But you do get points for trying," Athos said.

"What?"

It came out more of a squawk than anything else. Athos wondered if the young man had realized that he had lowered the chair he had been brandishing. He glanced towards his friends and saw the spark of interest in Aramis' eyes as well as the indulgent grin that spread on Porthos face. He was not the only one taking a shine to this confused boy who looked like he could use help but would certainly fight anyone should they try.

But the three of them did love a challenge.

"A bit low on the vocabulary aren't you?" Porthos asked.

"I think he's on medication give the boy a break," Aramis shook his head.

"I'd rather not he's already got his ribs taped up,"

"We do have bandages in a first-aid box somewhere around here you know,"

"I don't think anyone updates that box anymore,"

"I still keep extra supplies in my desk drawer?" Aramis offered.

Athos sat back in his chair and dropped his head in his open palm; they were going to scare the kid into jumping out a window he was sure. Glancing up he saw d'Artagnan's alarmed gaze flick from one man to the other like he was watching a particularly riveting tennis match where he was sure the ball was a bomb that would go off the moment it was dropped.

He was about to intervene when the door behind Athos opened and he knew before he turned around who it was; it had taken him complete two minutes to get here, the Captain was losing his touch. But Athos let none of that show on his face as he straightened as much as he could and let the older man's glare turn from him to his brothers.

"For the sake of my remaining sanity will someone explain to me what is going on with my men?" the Captain asked, "what is this I hear of you dragging in an unconscious man from the sidewalk?"

"Now that just sounds morbid," Aramis made a face, "I think I see your wisdom in hiring an official psychologist for your employees Captain,"

The Captain ignored the three of them in favor of the new face, eyes fixing onto the young man who was pressed back against the wall. D'Artagnan's white knuckled grip over the edge of the chair twisted when he saw the door filled out by the Captain, Leon, and Laurent.

"Who's this?" asked the Captain.

"The man we apparently dragged in," Porthos shrugged.

"He is Charles d'Artagnan, we had a misunderstanding on the street Captain and the boy was hurt," Athos clarified, "we thought we could sort out the matter in a better setting in a more civil way,"

He ignored the other two as they shared a grin at his words and instead looked to the Captain. The man's eyes had widened, his face a shade paler as he stared at the young man across the room, if Athos didn't know any better he would have thought the Captain looked pained.

"d'Artagnan?" Captain Treville frowned, "Charles d'Artagnan?"

"Yes," Athos nodded, "he seems to think I murdered his father,"

"You did! You can deny all you want Athos but I know you are involved in his murder," d'Artagnan moved from around the chair with renewed anger, his eyes flashing as a smirk pulled on his face, "and you will pay for that. When you're rotting in prison remember it was me who put you there,"

"What are talking about?" Porthos stepped in his way, effectively blocking his path to Athos.

While he appreciated his friend's preemptive move should the boy launch at him fists flying Athos was still a bit worried for the younger man, because even Aramis was looking at him with something akin to a frown. He needed to diffuse the situation.

"Forget it, he's delusional," he said.

"Oh really? Because I think I've been successful so far in shaking up your life," d'Artagnan sneered at him from around Porthos' shoulder, "you know of my work Athos, I'm The Hound."

Silence met that declaration.

Athos looked at the man who was the reason he was currently without his laptop and his mobile phone. He had no idea why the kid was so convinced of his guilt but he could not deny that he had been relentless in his hits. He had even gone ahead and tapped into his work profile.

"The Hound? The one who hacked into our database?" Captain Treville demanded, "You're the one who stole information from us?"

It was the anger in the Captain's tone that snapped Athos out of his thoughts. He cast a glance to his brothers and shook his head slowly, stepping just slightly in front of the older man's glare despite his throbbing ankle.

"A false claim most likely," he said, "given Serge's protection software that break-in was the work of an expert,"

"I am an expert at what I do!" d'Artagnan insisted.

"Nonsense you're just a kid," Porthos cut him off.

"I'm The Hound."

"More like a pup," Aramis shook his head.

"Not a pup!"

As much as he was grateful for his brothers' support Athos had to wonder about d'Artganan's sanity when the younger man almost growled and stumbled forwards to get away from those shielding him. Shoving aside Porthos and Aramis he grabbed Athos by the shoulder and swung him around.

"You don't believe me right? But remember my face when your life falls to pieces," d'Artagnan collared him, "know that it was Alexander d'Artagnan's son who put you there."

Before he could form a reply d'Artagnan was pulled off of him. Porthos deposited the boy back in his chair as Aramis hand on his shoulder steadied Athos. The anger in those dark eyes he had expected but it was depth of grief in d'Artagnan's venomous gaze that left Athos swaying.

"All right, you three in my office right," the Captain pointed to Laurent, "and you stay here to watch the kid. If he is who he says he is we can't let him get away like this."

"Captain –" Athos began.

"My office Athos,"

Biting back a retort Athos conceded, he could tell his boss was shaken and with the way their assignment had went that morning he knew leeway was the last thing he should be expecting. As Laurent moved past them Athos cast one last glance towards the young man who was scowling where he sat in the chair.

"Why does the Captain look like he's encountered a ghost?" Porthos asked quietly as he came to stand beside him.

Aramis grasped Athos' arm on his other side, taking his weight to help with the sprained ankle and spoke around his head in the same whisper.

"I don't know," he said, "I'm still wondering where he's keeping this remaining sanity he speaks of,"

* * *

The room he was in was small, with a window opening out that was useless to him at this height and another that opened to the main floor visible through the half drawn blinds. It was furnished with a table, an air-conditioner unit, a flat screen and a couple of comfortable chairs that were heavier than they looked as he had noted before. Wrapping up his quick survey d'Artagnan looked to the man called Laurent who had been left behind to watch him.

The man was the same height as him but with a bit more breadth in his shoulders and a clear look of displeasure on his face as he closed the door after the departing group. The scowl on his face didn't lessen when he turned to d'Artagnan and he couldn't help but regard the man with a raised eyebrow.

Someone was looking for an outlet for his frustration it seemed.

But Laurent ignored him and taking the chair Athos had vacated, he grabbed the remote control from the desk before turning his attention to the screen he had switched on. D'Artagnan shrugged and grabbed the cash and his mobile phone that his captors had dumped on the table.

He had expected some form of resistance but when none came he swiped his phone on and entered the password.

He needed to think of a way out before Athos and his Captain returned; better yet he had to get away before the police came for Athos. First thing he needed was internet, a basic necessity for him, and d'Artagnan set to work towards decoding the password of the Wi-Fi in the office. He frowned when he heard the cheering crowd and it was only instinct that he used his phone to lower the sound on the screen.

"What the –!" Laurent swore suddenly.

D'Artagnan glanced up at the back of his head just as the man raised the sound again.

This could work.

He grinned internally and waited for a few minutes before he used his phone to switch the channels.

Laurent stiffened and d'Artagnan waited with a baited breath, but the man never turned around and switched the channel back. And the young man changed it right back, stifling his grin when Laurent smacked he remote control on the flat of his palm before he switched the channel back again.

This time he took a minute before he turned the sound all the way up.

It was enough to get Laurent to his feet, trying his best to get the sound back down but d'Artagnan simply kept nudging it the other way. The man swore and the door opened to reveal a dark blonde head. He dropped his eyes to his lap and the hand holding his phone to his side, out of the view of the new comer.

The sound went back down under Laurent's command.

"Everything alright in there Laurent?" the woman asked.

"Its fine!" snapped the man, "stupid thing won't work,"

The woman nodded before slipping out and closing the door. D'Artagnan watched the man drop back in his chair and switch of the screen, with a wicked grin he switched it back on. The man's curses were music to his ears and he had to draw a hand over his face to keep from letting his mirth show.

As Laurent got to his feet and went to unplug the screen d'Artagnan turned his attention to the air-conditioner. Hoping it would take the command he decided to up the temperature in the room, a lot. It took ten minutes for Laurent to divest himself of his suit jacket, wiping his forehead as he did.

He glowered at the young man as he trekked up and down the room. D'Artagnan gave him the most unimpressed look he could muster while trying not to squirm in the stuffy room. Sweat was breaking on his hairline and he was considering changing his plan when.

"I'm getting some water," Laurent said, "do not move,"

As an answer he dragged out a bored nod and pointedly turned back to his phone. As the door closed behind Laurent d'Artagnan waited a few minutes before he sneaked it open again. Through the slim crack he watched the man hovering near the water cooler set by the far wall of main office-floor. What caught his attention was the row of three printers set nearby where Laurent stood.

It was too easy.

He tapped into the intranet of the office and found every printer there was. Choosing his favourite picture he grinned and ordered five hundred copies from every printer. As the distant sound of the first muffled whizz reached him, d'Artagnan grabbed the briefcase carrying payment from Mendoza and shrugged on Laurent's suit jacket.

As exclamations filled the air outside, he further eased the door open and waited until the whirr of the printers and surprised indignation had everyone's attention. Straightening his back he stepped out into the main floor and moving like he belonged in that place, d'Artagnan walked out of Treville's Company.

Not taking his chances he hailed a cab from right outside the office building and dared to glance back only when they were turning out of the street. When it seemed like no one was giving chase he let go the breath he had no idea when he had he and sank back into the seat. A thought nibbled the back of his mind that he hadn't seen the last of those three men but d'Artagnan pushed it aside as exhaustion took over.

He sat up with a jerk and immediately hissed at his aching ribs. Frowning at the motion that had snapped him out of his doze he glanced outside to see that they had pulled over outside of his building. Paying his due and thanking the driver he stepped out onto the sidewalk.

Every joint in his limbs felt like jelly and his stomach grumbled in long ignored hunger. Bracing an arm against the throbbing in the side of his chest he stopped first at the pizza shop below his flat, then took the stairs as he devoured half a pizza on the way.

Locking the door after him he pocketed the key and dumped the much lighter pizza box on the cluttered table, picked out another slice that he chomped on as he made his way to his room, toeing off his boots as he went. Booting up his desktop he switched on the music to it loudest and it poured out of the speakers placed all over the flat. It chased out the emptiness, seeped into the walls, pooled in every crevice and enveloped him like an embrace; the thrum and the base soothed his nerves like nothing else could.

Letting go a calming breath he wiped his hands on a paper napkin and pulled out his chair into the brightest spot in the room. Setting the briefcase on his knees he clicked it open. It was a barely audible snick that he noticed too late and pushed the lid open all the way.

The mechanism sprung into action as two tiny silver balls rolled into the centre of a circle set in the briefcase base under the clear plastic cover. And the countdown began on the screen set in the lid. D'Artagnan stared as he realized he had less than forty five minutes to live.

* * *

He had explained until his voice was hoarse and that was despite Athos stepping in to pick up the story. But by the look on Leon and the Captain's face he could tell they were not satisfied. Resisting the urge to let his head drop against the back rest Porthos drew a hand through his hair and a wince escaped him unchecked when the wound on his arm pulled.

He shifted in the chair and let his hand drop.

"The main room was empty save for the staff, Mendoza wasn't there but it seems like he had an army and ammunition to back it up there," he said.

The Captain stood behind his desk, one hand on his hip the other pinching the bridge of his nose. His brows pulled into a frown as he finally looked to Porthos.

"So they just dropped the flash bomb just as you were about to go up on the stairs and opened fire after; just like that?"

"We've told you how it happened. We don't know the why of it."

"It was almost as if they knew about us," Athos shrugged where he was sitting with his injured foot up on the coffee table and glanced towards Leon, "are you sure no one knows that you sent us in except for those who are supposed to?"

"We don't have a leak in out ranks if that's what you're implying," the Detective Inspector bit out.

"That still doesn't change the fact that those two nearly lost their lives," Aramis said.

"These two must have missed something then,"

"Or maybe you did,"

"Aramis…" the Captain warned.

But it was the silence from Leon that had Porthos looking his way. The Detective Inspector had gone from glaring at Aramis to frowning at his own shoes. When Leon glanced up, Porthos saw the way his eyes lingered on the bandage on his arm.

"After Cornet dropped off the radar his ex-wife received a letter from him," Laurent told the Captain, "It said there was a bigger ring behind Mendoza's setup, people involved that he could not name in the letter. But that still does not prove he has men in our ranks."

"Neither does it prove otherwise," Aramis shrugged.

Porthos' couldn't blame him for the distrust, his friend after all knew intimately how easily people's loyalties could be bought and their silence assured. He had suffered for it for years.

"Alright enough," the Captain shook his head but his thoughts were drowned by the beep and click of the printer at his side.

All eyes turned to the device that kept on spitting out paper after paper even as the Captain's frown deepened. Porthos cast a glance towards his friends when Treville's face took on a purple hue as he stared at the printout in his hand. He hadn't the chance to speak up as the Captain stormed out of the room and the four of them followed as fast as they could.

The whirr and click of the machines buzzed all around them as they made their way to the interview room. Porthos didn't know whether to laugh or fume when they found the place empty; clearly the boy had somehow sent Laurent from the room, possessed the printers of the office and made his escape.

"Captain! You should see – oh!"

"Yes Laurent oh," the Captain rounded on the man in the doorway, "where is the boy I left in your charge?"

"He was right there playing with his phone," the man looked around as though hoping his charge would spring into view, "he was right –"

"You let him use his phone?" Athos arched a brow, "you let a hacker use a piece of technology that is halfway a computer?"

Laurent looked from him to the Captain, his face slowly draining of colour as the realization about his actions sank in. As the man wiped the sweat from his brow, Porthos looked about the room and pulled at the collar of his shirt.

"Why is it so hot in here?" he asked from no one in particular.

"I don't know," Laurent moved as if in a daze and leaned back against the wall, "air-conditioner malfunctioned I think, the screen was going haywire too."

"Or it was our dear pup," Aramis pointed out.

Laurent shook his head, "he was nowhere near them,"

"He was using his phone," Aramis said, "it must have been equipped with an infra-red blaster."

Porthos remembered the madhouse their flat had been turned into just a month back when Aramis had found out this ability in his phone. And when he had gotten tired of randomly switching on electronics and one too many songs blasting on full volume as he walked past the sound system, Porthos had retaliated. That war had ended when Athos had put his foot down, heel first, on their phones because the beloved coffee maker had become collateral damage.

"I don't care how he made it out of here I need you to find him!" The Captain turned to face the three of them, "that's your new assignment; find Charles d'Artagnan, today."

"But Mendoza –"

"Is there anything productive my men can do towards that?" asked the Captain.

Leon grimaced and shook his head.

"Then you three get on and find him,"

Porthos watched their Captain leave, Laurent trailing behind him. Usually the Captain would have insisted they stick to their desks after they had come back from a shoot, especially with the aftermath like Athos limping around. But the man hadn't stopped to even consider that. He had a nagging feeling that Captain Treville was keeping something from them, something about this d'Artagnan that had shaken him. He looked back to his brothers and titled his head towards the door.

"He seems on the edge," he said.

"That boy stole information from us," Athos shrugged, "he's put us and our clients at risk."

Porthos looked about the empty room and couldn't help the grin that appeared on his face. Athos gave him a disapproving look before he rolled his eyes in clear exasperation. The big man chuckled and shrugged.

"You have to admit it took guts," he said, "he took a risk and played Laurent and just sauntered out of here."

"And he knows how to make an exit in style," Aramis grinned as he held up one of the many printouts now littering the office.

It was giant face of a pitbull sprawled in all shades of black and white on the paper with the words THE HOUND printed over it. Porthos couldn't disagree with his friend there; the young hacker certainly knew how to leave his mark.

"As tasteful as that is," Athos gave them a bland look, "how are we supposed to track down this wayward canine?"

"He hacked into our system so he must have left some digital evidence behind," Aramis offered.

Porthos hoped that it was so, they needed a lead or he had a feeling the Captain would send them to comb through the city on foot if it came down to it. He reached out to help Athos as they left the room in silent agreement, until Aramis called from ahead of the two of them.

"To the Serge Cave!"

"When we're done here, I'm confiscating his comics." Athos said.

"He knows where you sleep Athos and where you keep your shaving kit," Porthos warned as they followed their friend into the technician's office.

Serge didn't even glance up from the screen that was reflected back in the thick lens of his spectacles; his silver hair was tied back and his sleeves rolled up as he studied the narrow block script on the screen.

"This Hound just wouldn't leave us alone would he?" he muttered more to himself than anything else.

With a nod to the screen he pulled his gaze away and glanced at the three of them. Offering them a grunt of acknowledgement he picked up the phone from beside his keyboard and handed it to Athos.

"Your phone was useful," he said.

"Thank you?" Athos glanced from him to Porthos, before looking to Serge again, "how was it useful?"

"It was difficult with all the re-routing but I traced back the signals to their origins,"

Porthos felt a pressure roll of his shoulders, they had a point to start at least. He looked to the older man who seemed to have had his attention snagged back by his computer again.

"And…?" he prompted.

"And this," Serge pulled up a map, "is the area that falls under the tower the signal came from."

It was with a sinking heart that he noticed how large that area was. They would have to cover all that physically, going door to door. If that wasn't disheartening then there was the possibility that if d'Artagnan got the whiff of it he may pack up and leave that area altogether, or he may not be there to begin with.

"Well there goes our next two days," Aramis groaned.

"Or not," Porthos turned back to the door.

"What're you up to?" Athos called after him.

"We might just get a better point of entry," he tossed over his shoulder.

Porthos hurried back to the interview and over to the chair where d'Artagnan had sat. He remembered seeing it when Aramis had checked the young hacker's pockets and he hoped that the boy hadn't taken it with him. The table top was empty but he looked around it and a smirk broke out on his face when he saw it.

It was a paper napkin.

A paper napkin with the name of the establishment printed on it.

He picked it up and smoothed it out; his grin faltered. He didn't need Serge's map to know where this place was, it was the one he had made it a point not to revisit. It was right next to the place where it had all started for him, the downwards spiral that began with the loss of his mum's bakery….

… _the papers are in his hand, the words quite clear despite the formal discourse and yet he cannot understand. He cannot understand how this had happened, how it had come to this._

" _Why didn't you tell me before?" he asks._

" _You've only been back a few months and after everything with Thomas I couldn't put this on you on top of that." She bites her lip and shrugs, "And before that you were on a different continent in a different time zone; I didn't want to worry you."_

" _You didn't want to me worry –" he shakes his head and looks up at his mother, "were you planning to ever share this?"_

 _His mother unwraps one of her hands from the mug she holds and reaches out, slim fingers land on his own and give them a gentle squeeze._

" _Eventually," she says, "not like this,"_

 _He wants to scream, he wants to tear apart the papers in his hand but only ends up clutching them tighter. The crunch under his grip creases the words and it takes him a second to realize that his hand is shaking. They've lost the business and that meant the bank loans wouldn't be paid, in fact they've defaulted already._

 _He can't believe he's finding it out only now._

 _His mother's hand trails over his arm and holds on._

" _It's alright you know," she says, "it'll work out,"_

 _And he hates how placid she's being about this. His mother is a fighter, she never backs down and he can't believe she's not furious over this. She should be making plans and taking action, it's almost like she knows that she'll be defeated, like she already is defeated._

" _It was your dream,"_

" _I have other dreams,"_

" _It's not just that is it?" he can't help but growl, "our home Mum, it's gonna cost us our home!"_

 _Her fingers dig into his skin, the grip becomes almost painful and there's a flash in his mother's eyes like lightening itself._

" _He can take away my business and he can take away the house, but no one can take my home Porthos," the fierce passion behind her soft tone makes her voice tremble, "No one can take that away from me because my home is wherever my boys come around."_

 _It takes him a few seconds to absorb the words and his eyes widen at the realization._

" _You said him, you know –"_

" _Porthos –"_

" _You know this isn't just bad luck –"_

" _Porth –"_

" _Who is it?_

 _She shakes her head and lets go of him. Her eyes roam over the small kitchen before staring out the window where the sun is shining._

" _Mum,"_

 _She looks at him and shakes her head again._

" _You need to calm down first –"_

" _Calm down?" he can't, "Calm down?" he pushes away from the table and gets to his feet._

 _Someone is conniving to take away his home, the home that he had grown up in, where he had spent so many nights camped out under the dining table with his best friends, where he had spent so many mornings baking with his mother, where they had all shared laughter and tears and tantrums and plans and hugs and fights and marked their heights on the kitchen doorjamb over the years._

 _He cannot calm down._

" _I need air," he says._

 _He grabs his jacket and moves to the door…_

…that was the first time he had gone down to the Court of Miracles, stumbled onto it in one of the empty halls in a building near his mum's closed down bakery. The Court where he had found the first of many more fistfights to come that he had used as a means to take out his frustration.

In those early days he had always found the Court in this area, around his mum's lost business and 'Enzo's pizza' shop; it were the days he only re-examined in the privacy of solitary sleepless nights.

He glanced up from the name and found Aramis in the doorway; it was clear by the pained look that flashed in his eyes that he had read the name and understood the problem.

"You don't have to go down there," he said, "Athos and I can take this one,"

"It'll take a lot more than an old haunt to keep me from helping you two," he got to his feet, sounding much more confident than he felt, "C'mon, let's ask Serge if this falls in the parameters he had marked."

* * *

He blinked as the bead of sweat rolled down into his eye.

He blinked again to clear the burn and dared not pull his hands away from the explosive in his lap.

He could see the wiring under the clear plastic cover and glanced back to the screen. His toes were numb, a dull throb had started in the side of his legs and down beyond his knees. Ten minutes of absolute stillness had left his neck stiff and his back rigid.

D'Artagnan cleared his throat and winced, screaming for help hadn't worked with the music blasting across his flat. He glanced towards his desk, eyeing his phone and tamped down on the desire to wriggle just a bit.

Tiny ripples crawled down his back as his muscles strained with the instinct to move while his brain demanded he kept still.

Holding in a breath he slowly eased his fingers away from the base of the briefcase and dared to clench his hand. The easing of cramps in that one only magnified the ones in his other hand. Yet he forced his eyes to remain fixed on the tiny silver balls balanced in the centre of the circle and slowly reached out to his desk.

Gently, carefully, he stretched his arm to the full.

Softly wriggled his fingers as they brushed the air by the edge of the desk, almost reaching it, almost, and he strained his shoulder and tasted blood where he had bit the inside of lip, eyes fixed onto the silver ball bearings.

He glanced sideways and he was so close, his leg jerked in the reflex to just move. The tremor wasn't too bad but one of the balls hit the circle's edge, the countdown drained rapidly and d'Artagnan forgot to breathe.

In a flash he had both his hands back where they started, easing the balls back to the centre.

He glanced at the screen and swallowed hard.

He was down to twenty minutes.

* * *

They had pulled over outside of the pizza shop that was busy with the afternoon customers. Carefully Athos peeled his hand away from the seatbelt and sat up straighter. He caught Porthos' gaze in the rearview mirror. The dark eyes that met his were steady and no longer had that hint of suppressed dizziness his friend had tried to hide at the hospital.

A relieved grin twitched on Athos' face.

"You're driving on the way back," he said.

"Clearly," Porthos nodded.

"If I wasn't the one driving we wouldn't have made it here before nightfall." Aramis frowned, "you should be thanking me."

Porthos turned a most solemn face to his friend.

"Thank you Aramis you have succeeded in making me appreciate every breath that I take,"

"Glad to be of service," the other grinned unabashedly before he shifted in his seat and turned to Athos, "You should sit this one out, wait here for us," he said.

Athos rubbed at his leg where the pain spiked up at regular intervals and shook his head. He would not let a simple sprain make him useless. Without a word he picked up the bag from the floor space of the car and pulled out the earpieces.

A conference call would have to do if they were to split up and remain inconspicuous.

"You can be our backup,"

"I'm coming with,"

Aramis' jaw twitched as he bit back the argument and Athos moved to exit the car. They stepped out onto the sidewalk and surveyed the building. He knew that Mrs. Du Vallon had a bakery here, had a hazy memory of the place as a wafting feeling of warm moments amidst the bitter alcohol soaked days that had been his norm at the time. While he had been getting over his own losses he knew Porthos and his mum had lost that business here.

From the corner of his eye Athos could see the grim set of Porthos' face and shifted closer to him in silent support.

"I take this one and you take the other two?" he asked.

"I don't think there are elevators in there so I'm coming with you," Aramis flashed him a smug grin, "would be so much fun to watch you hop all the way up."

"There will be no hopping," Porthos settled the matter.

And that was how Athos found himself flanked by his brothers as they stood outside the narrow door, knocking uselessly against the barrage of music that drifted out of the flat. No one answered even when Porthos used his fist against the discolored wood and Athos sighed.

At this rate they'd be lucky if they finished with one building today he mused.

"What's that?" Aramis sniffed the air, "is that smoke I smell?"

Athos rolled his eyes, he smelled a lot of things in the place that he dared not focus on but smoke wasn't one of them

"As a matter of fact it is," Porthos grinned, "do you suppose there could be a fire starting in there?"

"We better check and save the occupants of this flat," Aramis turned too earnest to be true eyes onto him and Athos wondered why he even bothered to pretend that he could keep these two in line.

"Go ahead," he said.

Porthos backed up slightly and two, much too delighted, kicks later the door swung open.

The deplorable state of the place was not a surprise. Athos limped ahead of the other two and crossed the small living space towards the open door from where light was spilling out. He turned into the threshold and stopped short.

There was Charles d'Artagnan in a chair, eyes wide with fear and suspiciously wet.

Athos glanced at the object in his lap and knew by the sheer stillness of the boy what it was. His blood ran cold when d'Artagnan demanded that they leave and evacuate the building. He turned back to glance at his friends who had stopped at the door of the room and they immediately walked back out to follow his silent order.

He strode in and switched off the music before studying the wires and the mechanism beyond the clear plastic, he only realized he had crouched down by the young man when his injured ankle protested at the move. Athos spared a glance at d'Artagnan when he insisted that he leave but turned his focus to the call he had just made.

This was the Captain's domain; he knew about explosives and was the only person on his contact list that had such knowledge.

"We have a problem Captain," he explained the situation even as the young man in the chair kept insisting that he leave.

Athos glanced at the numbers counting down and felt his heart sink to find they had less than four minutes and shook his head at the Captain's suggestion to call in the experts.

"Call them but I'm afraid it'd be too late, it's a weird contraption, will likely go off if he so much as twitches," Athos looked up from the younger hacker who was giving him a murderous glare when Porthos announced that they have evacuated the building, "good, now get out," he said.

He wasn't surprised when Aramis rolled his eyes.

"And let you have all the fun?" he asked.

Muttering under his breath about idiots his friend came to crouch beside him while Porthos studied the contents of the explosives from the other side. They were tossing ideas about how to proceed but Athos knew that the Captain's guidance would have to do. He sent a quick picture of the contraption to their boss and added Aramis into a conference call.

This would require steady hands.

Giving up his position to Aramis, Athos got to his feet and didn't miss the wide brown eyes that followed him; although d'Artagnan was persistent that they leave but the fear in his gaze spoke otherwise. It took a conscious effort for Athos to keep from reaching out and squeezing the narrow shoulder that was pulled taut in duress.

He watched as his friend eased a blade under the edge of the clear plastic cover and leveraged it up, sliding it off carefully. His head was canted to focus on the instructions the Captain was giving and Athos did not miss the tense short questions that flew in his ear with equally clipped answers at their tails.

They were down to two minutes.

"If I'm getting blown up then I'm taking you with me my dear Porthos," Aramis didn't look up from where he was carefully separating the wires.

"Wouldn't have it any other way brother," Porthos laughed.

One minute twenty seconds.

Athos glanced at his brothers and felt warmth bloom in his chest, if now was his time he would happily go out beside these idiots he decided.

"Gentlemen you've scandalized our target," he said.

"Nah, he's just petrified." Porthos smirked.

"Don't worry mi amigo," Aramis grinned as he looked up, "one way or another, this will end now."

The blade sliced through though wires.

Athos felt his breath catch.

But there was only silence.

He looked to his brothers and found wild-eyed grins; his own relief broke through in a helpless huff before a matching smile pulled on his face. Athos drew a shaky hand through his hair. Porthos plopped all the way down to the floor, one hand braced against the carpet as he pressed the heel of the other against his eyes.

And then d'Artagnan listed to the side.

Athos caught him before he hit the floor, grunting slightly as the boy fell against him like a string-less puppet.

"Whoa hey, let's not push our luck," Aramis grabbed the rigged briefcase and set it down carefully.

"D'Artagnan?" Athos shifted a little and brushed the fringes of hair from the young man's face, "d'Artagnan are you hurt?"

The limp form shivered against him and the boy made a pathetic attempt to move his limbs that ended with his hand flopping in a vague gesture. Swallowing hard against his suddenly tight throat Athos looked to Aramis, his friend merely offered a small smile as he held onto one of d'Artagnan's hands and kneaded it with his thumb and his finger.

"You've been sitting like that for quite a while haven't you?" he asked.

"Too long," the young hacker finally spoke up, "had to keep still,"

"And we all know how hard that is for puppies," Aramis grinned as he picked up the other hand and started soothing away the cramps in that one.

D'Artagnan gave him a bleary glare and Athos felt something unclench around his heart. He noted the lessening shivers as the younger man sagged heavier against him. Athos was too busy making sure that the boy wasn't unconscious that he didn't even register when Aramis was replaced by Porthos at his side.

He was grateful for his friend's strength as the big man eased the still wobbly young man upright and helped him out of the flat. Athos followed with the help of Aramis and sat down beside d'Artagnan on top of the stairs.

"I think this is the quickest we have finished an assignment," he said.

"Let's not have another one with such a countdown," Porthos rubbed the back of his neck, "I may have aged at least ten years in there."

The big man nodded towards the phone still in Athos hand.

"The experts arriving soon?"

"ETA ten minutes,"

"I'll bring 'em up then," he grasped d'Artagnan by the shoulder and gave it a squeeze, "hope you've learned to check the things you drag home pup,"

"Not a pup,"

But Porthos was already moving down, chuckling as he went. Athos glanced towards Aramis who nodded before he ruffled d'Artagnan's hair, earning himself a glare from the younger man. Aramis grinned wider and pointed a finger at his face.

"Stay," he ordered and d'Artagnan growled.

* * *

He turned his head to see Aramis making his way over.

Furious dark eyes flashed in his memory and brought forth the bloodstained face of his friend. The gash on Aramis' forehead had bled profusely amidst the horrible bruising and it had only been the sight of crimson that had doused Porthos' rage that day.

His eyes travelled to the scar arching over his brother's eyebrow and his lips pursed into a thin line, jaw twitching in an effort to not ground his teeth. He could not look away from the thin line, not when he still remembered the torn skin and the red trails down Aramis' eye and the side of his nose.

His hands were clenched into fists by the time Aramis came to a stop beside him. Grinning slightly his friend bumped their shoulders.

"I forgave you the minute I kicked you out of the car," he said and took a moment of consideration before he nodded, "alright maybe a few hours later but that was it."

Porthos was not surprised that his friend had guessed his mood and the reason behind it. He stared fixedly at their car, forcing himself to not glance at the shop space that was now an electronics store.

"You shouldn't have," he said.

"Your Mum was furious when I dropped you off; I figured you were facing enough,"

"That was the first time I hit you,"

"We've fought before that and after," Aramis shrugged.

He stepped ahead to lean his back against the car, looking too at ease for a man who had just disposed a bomb that was about to go up in his face. A knowing smile twitched at the corner of Aramis' lips.

"And we will be at each other's throat in the future too, I can guarantee you that," he said.

Porthos watched the man before him; his brother who had somehow tracked him down to the Court of Miracles his first day there and had dragged him out kicking and screaming, very literally. His aimless anger had found his friend a convenient target and what followed were one of the worst few minutes of Porthos' life.

"Yelling at each other, tackling, grappling, rough housing I get all that. But ya gotta know it was different that time 'Mis," he shook his head, "that was the first time I hit you,"

"And the last," Aramis caught his gaze and held it, "you were hurting in more ways than one, were drunk and ridding the high of the fights you've just had; but you stopped Porthos. When you saw I was hurt you stopped and yes I was livid but the way you were looking at me then – and then all the way to your home – you were gutted over it and that's what made a difference when you apologized later,"

His warm brown eyes bore into Porthos' mind, sifting and searching and easily understanding the thought that had tortured the big man every time his mind wandered back to his actions that afternoon. Porthos saw the second his friend caught on and held back a flinch when Aramis' eyes hardened suddenly.

"Don't you dare," his friend glowered, "don't you dare compare yourself to him. You will never be like that man Porthos."

He shrugged a shoulder in resigned self-depreciation, his eyes stinging now that his brother had found his fear and voiced it out. Porthos looked across the street watching nothing as he tried to understand why his friend thought he was different from his childhood tormentor when he had reacted exactly the same way as that man had. He was honestly surprised that Aramis had never considered his anger that day as similar to that of his childhood monster.

He glanced back when he noticed his brother had pulled away from the car in his agitation, one hand absently rubbing over the scar on his forehead. Porthos reached out and pulled his fingers away, finding himself looking Aramis in the face again.

"I took my anger out on you 'Mis, how does that make me any diff –"

"No," Aramis shook his head and jabbed an angry finger in Porthos' chest, "I can't believe you've thought like that the entire time."

"I –"

"Damnit Porthos you're nothing like him. You never were and you will never be," he ran a hand through his hair and left it there, pulling slightly before he let his arm drop and turned to glare at Porthos again, "If you ever insult yourself like that, even in your mind, I will never forgive you for it."

Porthos blinked in surprise at the glare focused his way, his friend looked grim and ferocious and he couldn't help it; he laughed.

"Alright 'Mis, alright," he nodded, "now stop looking like a disgruntled cat,"

Aramis sputtered.

* * *

He clasped his hands tighter together and dropping his chin to his chest d'Artagnan simply breathed. He was tired and aching and his muscles felt shivery under his skin. A warm hand settled at the back of his neck and squeezed gently.

His eyes stung.

With an effort he lifted his head and the hand from his neck shifted to his shoulder, he didn't want to dwell on the fact how grateful he was that it stayed there. D'Artagnan looked sideways towards the man sitting next to him on the stairs.

"You're not involved in my father's murder are you?" he asked.

"I told you I know nothing about it,"

And much to his horrific surprise d'Artagnan believed him. He snorted at his own stupidity and shook his head slowly. If he closed his eyes he could feel every bump and dent in the briefcase that he had so carelessly carried all over the city.

"I landed on it when I jumped from the window," his voice shook, "if it had gone off then, or at the hospital, or at your office, I – Athos it could have gone off at any of those places."

"But it didn't" the voice was firm, "and it didn't go off at all."

D'Artagnan watched Athos shift his injured foot and rub at his leg, something stirred in him at the thought of him limping up to his flat and orchestrating an impromptu rescue despite what he had put the man through. He ducked his head when the older man caught him watching.

"I may have made a mistake," he said.

Athos shrugged before he gave his shoulder another squeeze and let him go.

"Where did you get this briefcase from?"

"Mendoza," he ran a hand through his hair, "and I may have made a huge mistake,"

* * *

Athos didn't push the younger man for questions, even when it seemed like he was itching to talk. He made sure that the sight was secure before they headed down and to the car. It was on the way back that d'Artagnan explained his involvement with Mendoza and his attempt to frame Athos.

"At least now we know how the man had an idea about us," Porthos said as he guided the car down to the basement of their office building.

"And Leon can rest easy that no one is selling out information," Aramis nodded before he stared out of the car window, "what's going on here?"

Athos was about to ask the same question. While police was not a novel sight at their building there were too many cars for it to be a normal handover. With a frown he exited the car and looked to the Captain who was making his way towards them.

"Captain?"

"Athos they are here to –"

"Olivier d'Athos de la'Fere?" asked a policeman.

"Yes,"

"You are under arrest for charges –"

"Wait! Wait I can explain!" d'Artagnan sounded frantic, "I can explain –!"

The handcuffs were cold around his wrist; their click reverberated with a resounding finality in his ears despite the uproar by his friends. It didn't occur to him to struggle, to protest but he was sure that his brothers did. The hold on his arms wasn't restraining, the clasps were familiar and calming.

He wondered if she would have appreciated that, if his wife would have wanted that, if she had felt adrift like he was feeling…

… _.the bloodstained dagger in her hand drops by his brother who is lying cold in a crimson puddle. There's too much blood on the floor, too much blood on her hands…_

…the grip on his arms tightened.

He glanced from one side to the other.

His brothers flanked him, stood by him like always.

"Athos I promised them there would be no trouble," said the Captain.

Athos blinked and noticed for the first time that Porthos and Aramis had a hand on their weapons, he was sure they were a breath away from drawing them. It was the fear of that more than anything else that broke through to him.

"And there won't be any trouble," he said and stepped out of his brothers' hold, "no trouble at all," he looked from one furious face to the other.

"But it wasn't him, I planted that evidence." D'Artagnan insisted, "I will go down with him and clear this out. Athos is not at fault here."

Leon nodded to the policeman waiting to take Athos.

"Let him go and give his statement," he said, "we'll sort this matter out,"

The few steps to the car flashing red and blue were some of the hardest Athos had taken in his life. His mind drifted back to his wife and the sight of her being lead away in handcuffs…

… _her head held high, her eyes hard and staring ahead, no mute apology there. The wind ruffled her dark curls and brought her scent back to him…_

…Athos slid in the backseat and d'Artagnan followed. He was suddenly grateful for the boy's presence and forced a smirk for his friends who looked ready to commit murder.

"I'll be back before nightfall," he said.

And then they were pulling away, out of the basement and back into the sunlight. The young man beside him sat with the grim determination of one heading for gallows and it dawned on Athos that he had willingly given himself up, admitted to his crime just to clear his name.

"d'Artagnan th –"

His world came to a screeching halt.

Blue eyes met brown as the sound of gunfire filled the air and they ducked,the glass of the car windows shattered under the hail of fire.

"Mendoza," d'Artagnan gasped.

"Are you sure?"

He cursed when the boy raised his head and yanked him back.

"It's his men," d'Artagnan said, "I'm sure,"

A shadow fell across Athos and he glanced up at the man approaching the car door on the younger man's side. He scrambled over d'Artagnan and kicked the door hard enough to send the man tumbling back. The pain that doubled in his ankle had his gritting his teeth.

"Get to Porthos and Aramis," he spoke over his shoulder, "tell them what happened."

Hands wrapped around the front of Athos' shirt and dragged him out. He punched the man looming over him and fell back against the car. He knew he wasn't going to win this with his disrupted balance and ducked into the car again.

His eyes met the younger man's.

"Run," he said.

"But –"

"Get out of here,"

And to his absolute relief the boy complied. D'Artagnan dodged the men grabbing him, elbowed the one who succeeded and scrambled back to his feet. He plunged into the gathering crowd and weaved through the shocked people.

As a sharp prick in his neck wiped out his consciousness Athos' last thought was that at least the boy had made it through.

* * *

 **TBC**

 **Thank you everyone who read, favorite and follow this story. Clara, Debbie and Ruth thank you for your kind words. People who leave me reviews you're awesome for taking the time to do so and I thank you for it.**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: I'm so VERY sorry for the late update, life had been and still is a bit too busy and stressful, hadn't meant the delay to be this long.**

 **Warning:** **Panic attack and violence [torture because Mendoza is not nice] and mention of alcohol abuse ahead. Not for young Teens**

* * *

Red and blue flashed on the concrete walls as the police exited the underground parking lot. Aramis frowned, he could have sworn he had heard soft popping sounds in the distance, almost as if – he glanced towards the bright entrance beyond which the car taking Athos had disappeared. But with a shake of his head he forced his attention back to the men before him.

"We've got arrest warrants for Mendoza too," Leon told the Captain, "it seems he's made a mistake during his usually carefully constructed transactions and in that process he had been using Athos' bank accounts as the channel so to speak,"

"Athos has nothing to do with this," Porthos said, "He was framed,"

"I would like to believe that,"

"And what other option do you have?" Porthos growled.

Aramis tightened his hold on the man's arm, the tendons hard and taut under the cloth beneath his fingers. The scowl didn't diminish and the dark eyes pinning Leon in place didn't glance his way. The big man towered over the Detective Inspector and Aramis threw out an arm to stop his advance, his hand coming to press flat against Porthos' chest.

That got his brother's attention and Aramis shook his head minutely.

"What am I supposed to believe when you've turned a simple recon into a shootout only to find that one of you is in cohorts with the man I sent you after?" Leon demanded.

Aramis turned around and collard him.

"The same you believed for Cornet," his eye flashed and he gave the man a shake, "this is Athos," he reminded him.

"I know!" Leon shook him off and gritted his teeth, "you think that made a difference to my superiors? I told them but they –" he broke off with a hand through his hair, "they're desperate to get Mendoza,"

Aramis shook his head in thinly veiled disgust and glanced back up the ramp leading down to the basement, he felt his breath catch in his throat. Stumbling down the incline at an alarming speed was d'Artagnan.

He moved, instinctually aware of Porthos at his side as they jogged over to the younger man; fear an unpleasant taste in his mouth. They reached d'Artagnan just as he got to the bottom of the ramp and Aramis immediately noticed the harsh short breaths and the dilated pupils that made his eyes appear darker in the flushed face.

"Athos – you hav' t' help 'thos!" he clutched his sides and bent at the waist, wheezing as he did, "Mendoza's men 're there. Hafta help 'thos."

Aramis didn't have to glance aside to know that Porthos was already heading out with the Captain and Leon at his heels. His ingrained response demanded he follow but the young man before him was a sight he could not abandon, somehow, someway, Aramis could not bring himself to leave the gasping kid.

"Alright d'Artagnan we got that," he moved closer to the young hacker.

"Athos – help 'im,"

"Porthos is doing that, you did good coming to us,"

Pulling in a ragged breath d'Artagnan set his watery gaze on him, his brows pulling into a frown as he hugged himself tighter.

"M' fault," he shook his head, "din't think that 'thos wasn't t' blame. My fault."

"It'll be fine d'Artagnan but you have to breathe," Aramis said, "breathe with me alright? We'll count together yeah?"

He didn't wait for his acquiesce and guided the harsh panting until it finally resembled a rhythm.

Aramis raised his hands slightly, palms out as he approached the nervous youngster. He knew touching Porthos without forewarning during a panic attack would get him broken bones, not touching Athos would only make the man work himself up to the point of unconsciousness, but he had no idea how d'Artagnan would react when caught in the grips of fear.

"D'Artagnan?" he neared slowly, "d'Art?"

The dark eyes looked to him before darting off to the wall, to the cars, down to the floor, up the ceiling before the younger of the two shook his head and clenched them shut. A shudder rolled through his body.

"Stay with me pup,"

"Not a pup!"

"There you are," Aramis offered him a gentle smile, "can I touch you?"

His brows knitted tighter together, fingers twisting into the sides of his shirt before he gave a short nod. Doing his best to stay in the younger man's line of sight should he open his eyes again Aramis slowly grasped him by the upper arm; the adrenalin fueled shivers were obvious under his touch.

He remembered all that d'Artagnan had told them during the ride over and couldn't fault the young man to finally react the way he had. It had been clearly building in him and Aramis could only squeeze the arm in his grasp in quiet support when d'Artagnan turned his face aside and threw up.

He groaned and Aramis wrapped an arm around his back, easing the pressure off of his bruised ribs. Gently he guided the younger man between the nearest two cars and let him sag against the one at his back.

The young hacker slid down to the floor and let his head drop.

Aramis sat down beside him, their shoulders touching, and waited for the relative seclusion to calm the man further. Slowly, gradually, the tension bled away from the body next to him and Aramis stayed quiet as d'Artagnan wiped his sleeve over his eyes and under his nose.

"Sorry," he said.

"For what?"

"This," d'Artagnan drew a hand through his hair as he waved the other in an awkward sweeping gesture, "my over-reaction to everything,"

"Wasn't an over-reaction," Aramis shrugged, "unless you're a highly trained secret agent because that's the only way I'm seeing today's events as normal for you," he grinned slightly and poked a finger in the side pressed against his, "so are you?"

A shaky smile pulled on the younger man's face and he arched a brow as he turned to face Aramis.

"And _ **you**_ are?" he asked.

Aramis gave him an exaggerated horrified look complete with a fake gasp.

"Do you have no understanding of the word secret?" he said.

D'Artagnan snorted and ran a trembling hand through his hair, his eyes closed and he bit his lip.

"Athos," he said, "he made me get out of there,"

A part of Aramis knew this was a given reaction for Athos; that it was what anyone out of the three would have done if they had been in the situation but that didn't make it any less difficult to accept that somewhere out on the street Athos was alone and in trouble.

His clenched jaw twitched at the thought, fear spiking up a notch at Porthos' absence and everything in him demanded that he get to his brothers. He glanced towards his companion to see if he could stay back on his own and was relieved to see some colour back in his face.

"Can you –"

"I'm going after Athos," d'Artagnan got to his feet, "care to join me?"

"Since you asked so politely," Aramis rolled his eyes and followed him up.

They had only made it up to the sidewalk when they met Porthos and the Captain; Leon was nowhere in sight and more importantly neither was Athos. His heart sank down to his belly and froze there; the only thing that kept him from the stirring bloodlust that had taken its place in his chest was the grim face of his remaining best friend.

Porthos looked like he was ready to tear up the young man beside Aramis.

"Is this part of your plan?" his words were just shy of a growl, "did you plan to hand Athos over to Mendoza?"

"No, I didn't. I didn't know he would do this," d'Artagnan shook his head vehemently; "he came for me I'm sure. I was a lose end he had wanted dead anyway. But I survived and he knows I messed up his money transfer and oh –"

He smacked his forehead and clutched at his hair, eyes wide in horror.

"He must think Athos is in on it," d'Artagnan slid his hand to the back of his neck and his head dropped, "he must've wanted Athos too. His spies must have seen us together and he would've assumed – I'm sorry, I didn't think. I'm sorry –"

"You're sorry?" Porthos grabbed the younger man by the scruff of his shirt and hauled him up a little, "There was a shootout in the street, Athos is missing, and there are policemen injured and all because of your misguided vendetta against a man oblivious to your existence."

"I was told he was behind my father's murder,"

"You were told wrong,"

"And I know that now,"

"Let's hope it's not too late," Porthos let the younger man go.

"It won't be," Aramis caught his brother's shoulder, "we'll find him."

"I'd help you any way I can," d'Artagnan gave a determined nod.

"I don't think so," the Captain shook his head, "you're going to Leon or they'll stick this ambush on you."

"But I know it was Mendoza –"

"We'll take him," Aramis cut him off mid sentence and ignored the hurt that flashed in the younger man's eyes.

But he saw no other way to save d'Artagnan from getting pinned under this. They would get the boy cleared and see what Leon can tell them about Mendoza. Aramis looked to Porthos for support and knew that he had understood the plan by the way the coiled frustration eased from his shoulders.

"We'll take him," Porthos nodded, "We'll get him to Leon,"

Aramis didn't miss the frown on their superior's face. The Captain could not interfere in this matter officially but he also knew that the two of them wouldn't sit on the sidelines if there was a way to get their brother back.

"Don't do anything stupid or reckless," he warned.

Aramis pressed a hand to his heart in mock exasperation.

"Sometimes it's like you don't know us at all Captain," he smirked.

* * *

The first thing he registered was the smell, a cold rusty scent that filled the stale air and clung to the back of his throat like dry sand. He swallowed and cringed slightly at the thick bland taste that spoke of his recent bout of unconsciousness. A tug explained why he couldn't bring his hands in front of him and he frowned when he felt the rope pulled tight across his lap, fixing him in place on the chair.

Athos sensed movement near him a second before the slap connected with his face.

His sluggish brain sloshed in his head.

"That's it Athos, time to wake up and pay back what you owe me,"

Blinking and shaking his head he cleared the last cobwebs from his vision; the sight that greeted him was far from pleasant. The room was littered with discarded file covers and the stained walls were chipped behind the graffiti, most of which announced that 'Timmy was here!'

"Fascinating accommodations," Athos muttered.

The pale light from the dingy window told him he hadn't been out too long but it was blocked out too soon by the heavy man who smiled down at Athos; and that wasn't an improvement to the situation at all.

"Mendoza," Athos gave the man a bland look, "and to what do I owe this displeasure?"

The back hand across his face was expected.

"Where is my money?"

"Where is your brain?"

"What?"

"I thought we were playing a game of futile questions," Athos shrugged a shoulder.

"A funny one I see," Mendoza stepped back with a venomous grin that slithered onto his face.

He drew back and kicked Athos' bandaged ankle.

White hot pain shot up his leg, spiked up to his back and muffled in a gasp; only for the hit to come again and again and again. At the fifth impact Athos had a sickening feeling of something shift under his skin as nausea roiled in his gut and he groaned despite the effort to stay quiet.

Mendoza stopped, his chest heaving with exertion.

"Did I break the funny bone?" he wheezed in delight.

Sharp agony pulsed up his leg in waves and Athos grit his teeth to keep from screaming out loud. He forced his breathing to calm down, imagining Aramis in his head to guide him through. It was only a matter of time he told himself, he just had to hold on and wait for his brother to come for him.

Because they would.

And that belief settled his pounding heart more effectively than anything else could. It gave him the strength to glare back at the man that clutched his hair and forced his head up from where it had come to rest on his chin.

"Now are you ready to tell me where you've squirreled away my money?"

A defiant smirk curled on Athos' face.

"I wouldn't even if I knew where it was," he said.

The hand in his hair curled tighter until his scalp stung and Mendoza's delight was like slime on the man's face.

"I was almost wishing you would say that," he said.

Athos glanced aside at rattle of wheels that broke through the silence around them and his heart sank at the sight of the water filled barrel that was rolled in. He pushed his fear back into the corner and locked it there; he just had to hold on until Porthos and Aramis found him.

* * *

"So you were the reason Mendoza got hostile on the recon mission," Leon said.

D'Artagnan flinched where he sat in the chair even though he nodded.

"Old news, we need to focus on finding Mendoza to save Athos," Aramis spoke up from where he was leaning against the wall, arms crossed before his chest, "he likely thinks Athos knows about this plan to expose his money trail,"

From his place by the younger man's side Porthos saw d'Artagnan stiffen at the words and he knew there was something else that the boy hadn't let on. He had to admit that the man's cooperation was helpful and it seemed he was honestly upset about this unprecedented development by Mendoza.

Still if there was something important that he was keeping a secret, the big man wondered how he could go about extracting it without damaging the kid too much.

"That's not all," d'Artagnan said before Porthos could devise a plan to make him talk, "there's another reason Mendoza would want Athos. My final move to burry Athos was to direct half of Mendoza's finances to Athos' bank account."

Porthos closed his eyes as a knot tightened behind his and he breathed through his nose to ease the pressure. He shook his head to rein in the anger building in him, if nothing else the young hacker was thorough he mused.

"You weren't kidding when you said you wanted to destroy Athos," Leon said.

"Yes but he saved my life," d'Artagnan's voice was tight and Porthos opened his eyes to the sight of hunched shoulders, "he risked his life for me and you two did it for him, I'd never imagined –" he shook his head and drew a hand through his hair.

The note of wonder was unmistakable in his words and Porthos found himself clasping the narrow shoulder. The dark eyes held fear when they looked up at him but he was sure something must have shown on his face because the younger man's alarm abated slightly into something akin to confusion.

Porthos had to remind himself that from all the information that he had gleaned during their short interaction it seemed that this man hadn't had anyone in his corner for years. It was clear in his obsession of finding his father's murderer and they had after all seen the condition of the place d'Artagnan called home.

"So Mendoza would want his money back and he would force –" Aramis stopped short and paled suddenly, he pushed away from the wall and shook his head as though getting his thoughts on track, "at least that means Athos would be alive, he would want that to get his finances back."

"Which Athos knows nothing about," Leon sat down in his seat and looked to d'Artagnan, "you are going on record with everything you've said," he reminded him.

D'Artagnan nodded again, his face drawn but determined.

"Well then that straightens a lot of things,"

"But that again comes back to the fact that Athos is still in that man's clutches," Aramis pointed out.

"And we're looking for him. Our people are going down to all known properties that he owns and the places he frequents."

"We can help,"

"No," Leon shook his head, "you are not getting involved in this,"

"You talk like you have a say in the matter," though his tone was light Aramis' smile was a vicious thing.

Porthos forced himself to pull his attention away from the flash of violence on his brother's face and turned to the Detective Inspector. It had been a long shot to hope that the man would let them in on case sensitive information.

"Fine, but you'll keep us updated with the developments?" he asked.

"What?" d'Artagnan jerked in his seat and Porthos clamped down on his shoulder. The younger man looked up at him in surprise, "That's it, you're not gonna look for Athos?"

"Some things are out of our hands," Aramis said as he came to stand on d'Artagnan's other side.

Porthos cast him a sideways glance and unnervingly caught the same from his friend. In that fleeting second he knew they were on the same page, deciding on the same route and the same lead. He nodded back to Leon much to the man's surprise.

"You have our numbers," he said before grabbing the back of d'Artagnan's shirt and hauling him to his feet.

"Wait," the policeman said.

Porthos turned around to find Leon on his feet and rounding his desk. He had to appreciate the man's depth of understanding when he didn't even protest that they leave d'Artagnan behind like the big man was quite sure they were supposed to. Instead the Detective Inspector looked from Aramis to him and shook his head in irritation.

"At least let me be absent from the office for this," he hissed and walked past them to the door.

Porthos bit back a chuckle at the shocked expression with which d'Artagnan looked to the disappearing man and then back at him. With a shake of his head he guided the young man out of the building, not answering his indignant growls at them about giving up on Athos.

If looks could kill Porthos was sure his friend and him would have been dead ten times over during the ride that followed. He could feel the glare d'Artagnan had focused at the back of his head as he exited the car and opening the back door pulled out the younger man.

"Why are we at your place?" d'Artagnan shook himself free of Porthos' hand and glared at him, "I thought you'd be doing something to help Athos,"

"What makes you think we aren't," Aramis tossed over his shoulder as he led them in.

"And you know where we live?" Porthos raised a brow, "that's creepy,"

"Yes I know where you all live but why are we here?"

"So you can easily find out where someone lives if you have a bit of information about them?"

That gave the young hacker a pause. Porthos rolled his eyes and grabbing a sleeve he pulled him along up the stairs and through the door Aramis had left open. D'Artagnan squirmed out of his hold as they came to a stop in the lounge.

"Quit leading me around with my clothes,"

"Fine we'll buy you a leash," Porthos smirked, "now can you find us an address?"

"I'll need my stuff,"

"We're not going to your place, there could be a trap," Aramis came down the hallway with a laptop, "this will have to do," he placed it on the coffee table.

Porthos took out his mobile phone and went through the pictures he had taken for their latest assignment. He found one of Cornet and handed the device over to the young hacker.

"This is John Cornet," he said and nodded to the paper Aramis was scribbling on, "and that is all the information that we have on him. We need you to find his ex-wife. She was the last one he contacted and he might have left some clues about where Mendoza could go into hiding. Chances are that's where he took Athos."

As the boy got to work on the laptop, Porthos glanced up at his friend to catch him disappearing down the hall. It was simply the fact that Aramis was looking to put up distance from him that had the big man following him down to his room. He stopped in the open doorway and crossing his arms leaned against the doorjamb, watching his brother stare out the window.

"He could help with this," Aramis said without turning around to face him, "Mendoza's setup is something that would at least be on his radar."

Red flashed in his vision at the thought of that man and Porthos crossed the room to yank his brother around to face him.

"You don't need him,"

"But if it means we can find Athos, save him –"

"No," Porthos shook his head, "Athos wouldn't want that either."

And he was sure of that, neither of them would ever want their friend turning to his father. That monster had hurt their brother too much; they could not let him sink his claws back into the hold Aramis had torn free from.

"I could just ask –"

"And he'll use it as a way into your life and your mind again," Porthos resisted the urge to somehow confiscate his friend's mobile phone, "we'll find Athos and we don't need his help for that."

They both jumped a little at the sound of d'Artagnan's voice calling them from the lounge. Porthos hold shifted from restraining to reassuring on his brother's arm and he gave it a gentle squeeze. His friend still clasped his mobile phone in a white knuckled grip and Porthos didn't like the deliberate blankness in the eyes that reminded him too much of the times they had ignored it in their childhood.

"If this doesn't work I'm calling him for a favor," Aramis said as he went ahead to see what their hacker had found.

Porthos hoped it was something useful as he followed his friend out. The two of them reached the grinning young man who looked like he had unearthed some priceless treasure. D'Artagnan turned the laptop screen to them and Porthos found himself looking at a beautiful woman with dark hair and clear blue eyes.

"This is Alice Clerbeaux, John Cornet's ex-wife as of four years ago," d'Artagnan announced and held out the strip of paper he had torn off from Aramis' notes, "and this is her current address," he grinned.

* * *

It burned.

Up his nose and in his eyes.

A distant part of him wondered how ironic it was for the cold water to burn like it did, but mostly he just tried to not inhale the vile thing. He pursed his lips close in an effort to fight against the primal instinct to pull in a breath. He struggled, despite his best efforts not to and rubbed his bound wrists raw in the process.

Athos gasped when the hand in his hair yanked him back.

His chest felt tight and ached like he had ran the obstacle course a few times over in one go.

"Did that jog your memory?"

He gathered the water and saliva in his mouth and spat in the general direction of the voice. Mendoza's curses were music to his ears as the grip on him loosened and his head dropped forwards. The harsh tug in his hair that came next didn't matter anymore and when the blob of a face loomed in his bleary line of sight Athos was pleased to note the angry red tinge.

"Where is my money?"

Athos coughed.

His eyes watered and his face altered between numb and stinging by turns. The water had been cold, too cold. It had splashed all over his front and left him shivering.

"Where is my money?" Mendoza demanded.

His teeth chattered as Athos glared up at the man. He knew this man fed on fear, had seen his perverse inclination in the form of the bomb he had given d'Artagnan. It was supposed to go off in the young man's hold but the timer had just been to make the boy sweat, to have him stare down at his death and fear the inevitable.

Athos refused to let this man draw any such emotions from him.

"You're starting to sound like a broken record," he breathed out.

"Hmm, maybe I should wait for the boy to be brought in," Mendoza's eyes hardened, "he might be easier to break, or perhaps one of the two that seemed to be always at your heels?"

Athos blinked rapidly and it had nothing to do with the stinging in his eyes.

"Oh yes I saw you at The Hound's place, he's not the only hacker on my payroll you see" Mendoza leered, "I had been quite looking forward to that boom you know. But after the little stunt that mutt pulled I had wanted to have him brought in with you," the large man shrugged, "oh well I'll have to send Dujon after him when he's done with job for the day,"

Athos hadn't the chance to reply, he had no chance to pull in a breath or brace himself before his head was dunked again. The sharp chill of the water was still jarring after so many rounds and he was too late to stop the attempt to suck in a breath.

It burned in his nostrils and tore at his throat, the urge to cough making it worse.

His body thrashed on reflex even as numbness set in his mind.

Oblivion took Athos before he was pulled out again.

* * *

Alice Clerbeaux was kind enough to invite them into her penthouse, although he had a feeling it had something to do with the way her gaze lingered on Porthos. But d'Artagnan wasn't going to call her out on it if that was the reason she was being helpful about the matter.

"I've already handed over the letter to the police," she said as they followed her through the softly lit foyer into the main room; where the cream coloured walls framed a breathtaking view of the cool cerulean sky visible though the sprawling window, "but I did read it vague though it was. I still wonder why he would send it to me after all these years."

"You were his one contact he could trust and who he knew wouldn't be looked into immediately by his enemies," Aramis said.

"What did it say Ms. Clerbeaux?" Porthos asked.

"Please call me Alice," she offered him a fleeting smile, "John had asked me to contact the authorities, and he wrote that there was something big behind it although I don't know what 'it' is."

The hint of irritation wasn't lost on d'Artagnan, he could sympathize with her feelings of being patronized given the recent treatment he had had at the hands of these men. And yet a part of him that he would deny liked being a part of this friendship anyone could see between the three men he had met that day. A friendship he was happy to be in the periphery of even for a short period of time that he had.

"He probably didn't explain much for the fear of your safety," Porthos said.

"His job had made him paranoid," Alice nodded although her smile was bittersweet, "but he loved it more than anything else, even more than us."

"Anything else that you remember about the letter?" d'Artagnan spoke up before silence could descend, he was aware on the surprise of Porthos' face and the amusement in Aramis' eyes although his face remained blank, "We would really appreciate any detail you could give us," he added.

"He said that he had found the workshop," the woman said and picked up her mobile phone from the coffee table, "and he sent a card with that a letter,"

"A card?"

"A visiting card, I took a picture of it before giving it up," Alice handed her phone to Porthos, "this is it,"

D'Artagnan moved closer for a better look as Aramis came forward on the other side. He hoped there was some useful information on this card that could lead them to Athos. But his breath caught in his throat at the picture that greeted him, for there it was, a plain crimson card with a silver C embossed on it. He shook his head slowly at the sight almost wishing he was hallucinating, because if he wasn't it meant that he had pushed Athos into the hands of those responsible for Alexander d'Artagnan's murder.

That was exactly like the card found on his father the day he had died.

"That's a dead end," Aramis stepped back, "can you tell us anything about this workshop?"

"John didn't say anything about it in his letter, just that he had found it," Alice said, "I wish I could have helped mo –"

She stopped short at the knock on her door.

The passing frown on her face told d'Artagnan that she wasn't expecting anyone and he noticed the way the other two men raised a brow, clearly having picked up on her surprise as well. They had just turned into the foyer when Alice opened the door for the delivery man.

D'Artagnan recognized the face a second before the woman screamed.

They were moving before Dujon and his men had a chance to realize their presence. As he tackled one of them to the ground, Aramis pinned the other to the wall while Porthos pulled Dujon away from Alice and punched him hard across the face.

D'Artagnan groaned as the man in his hold slammed a knee in his chest, the pain in his bruised ribs flaring afresh. His fingers dug in the plush carpet as he gasped to get his breathing on track. The man he had caught slid out of his grip and made for the door Dujon at his heels.

Pushing himself straighter d'Artagnan spared Alice a glance, relived to find her unharmed, and then swung his head to catch Aramis go down the stairs after one man while Porthos chased the other up to the roof. Bracing his aching ribs with his arm, he forced himself up to his feet and staggered past the man Aramis had knocked unconscious.

D'Artagnan was gasping by the time he stumbled through the door on the roof and stopped short at the scene that greeted him.

Athos he had realized was a wolf, seemingly aloof with that disreputable yet noble air that made him not the king of the jungle but clearly the leader of his pack. His assumptions that the man was asocial had soundly shattered when he recognized that Athos didn't have a wide circle of friends but a small one that fitted him just fine.

Porthos he understood now was a bear, he was sheer power packed in the satisfied calm of a gentle soul; that is, only up till his family was threatened. Watching him in that moment d'Artagnan feared for the man cowering before the pure fury that emitted from the towering figure of Porthos as the man reached down lifted Dujon up by the front of his shirt.

"Porthos wait," he called out in a hurry, "this is Dujon; he might know where Athos is,"

"Is that so?" a vicious grin stretched on the big man's face, "then we'll have to make him talk,"

A squeak escaped Dujon before his teeth rattled with the force Porthos shook him with. D'Artagnan was worried that the big man might do something in a fit of rage that he would regret latter. It was a bone melting relief to find Aramis coming up to the roof; d'Artagnan felt the tension ease from his shoulders at the sight of the man who seemed to be an expert in remaining calm under duress.

"Put him down Porthos before he throws up on you," Aramis said.

Porthos stopped and let the man back on his feet although he didn't let him go.

"This is Dujon," he told his friend.

"Mendoza's right-hand man?" Aramis quirked a brow.

D'Artagnan nodded before he winced at the blow to the man's face that Porthos delivered.

"Really now Porthos, we're not brutes," Aramis said with a tiny smile as he went over to the two.

Unflinching was the man against the chilly breeze at this height as he moved with that inherent poise and went straight for his prey's jugular; like a natural hunter d'Artagnan's mind provided as Aramis clasped Dujon by the neck and dragging him along he stopped with the man held titled out over the edge of the roof.

Dujon's only link to safety was Aramis' hand wrapped around the man's throat.

"Where's the workshop?" Aramis asked.

His tone was conversational and d'Artagnan flinched at this tranquil violence that was all the more disconcerting for its calmness.

"I don't – I –" Dujon glanced down, "pull me up!"

Looking bored and just a touch indolent Aramis loosened his grip and Dujon yelled out. His hands scrabbling for purchase on the man's sleeve as Aramis' long fingers held on deftly to the front of his collar.

"You were saying?" Aramis said.

D'Artagnan shivered and it had nothing to do with the cold.

He glanced towards Porthos as the man slowly approached his friend; apparently even he was weary of this side in the otherwise cheerful man.

" 'Mis? Let's not take foolish risks that get the Captain mad us yeah?"

"We could always apologize later,"

"But how'll he explain our part in this if you shove him off the roof?"

"Who's to say that he was thrown off? We won't talk and he won't be talking when he goes splat," Aramis shrugged and looked back to Dujon, "What do you think? Would you make it from this height?"

"Please – don't –"

Aramis grinned at him and d'Artagnan was reminded of the feral way nature's predators bared their teeth before they ripped apart their victim.

"You can tell me where Mendoza's workshop is or," Aramis gave the man a jerk, "you can try your luck in the open skies."

"No! Just stop. Please. It's a factory –" Dujon blinked the moisture from his eyes as he gasped; "it's an abandoned meat factory he works out of."

He rattled off the address that d'Artagnan hurried to confirm it on the map in his phone. He found it in the list of plants that had been closed down over a decade ago and calculated it to be a couple of hours away from the city.

"It's there?" Porthos asked him.

"Yeah it's there,"

" 'Mis?"

Without a word Aramis yanked the man back onto the roof, letting him fall to his knees before he knocked him out cold. D'Artagnan looked from the crumpled man to the one straightening up, now as he watched Aramis he recognized this was a tiger; a lethal balance of graceful precision and ruthlessness, tempered only by playful compassion.

* * *

… _his bones feel like lead and his flesh like cotton under his skin. It's a strange sensation to be sinking and floating at the same time. The light above him is fuzzy, shaky and blurred beyond the surface of water and he wonders how he got here._

 _He swallows and winces at the sharp pain in his throat._

 _Did he fall in the Thames?_

 _He blinks and remembers the sidewalk, the people, and the journey, and finally the packet of her belongings that he had signed off on. His breath catches when he finally remembers the call that morning._

 _His head hurts._

" _Athos?"_

 _She was dead._

" _Athos? You with me?"_

 _Anne was dead._

" _Talk to me,"_

 _His wife was dead._

" _I'm here Athos, don't do this please,"_

 _It's the sheer familiarity of the voice, the stubborn persistence of it that had pulled him along these past months that reaches to him again. He realizes he had been staring at the ceiling and turns his head to regard the man at his side._

 _Aramis is sitting cross-legged in the chair like he would on the floor, with a thick book open in his lap. His clothes are rumpled and there is a curved gash on his forehead pulled close by butterfly bandages._

 _It hadn't been there that morning._

" _Athos?" Aramis' grip on his arm is almost painful, "talk to me will you?"_

 _He swallows the awful taste lingering in his mouth and glances down at the hand where he feels the pinch of a needle under his skin. He has no idea how he had made it to the hospital._

" _Why'd you do it?"_

 _He ignores the question._

" _You do know about alcohol poisoning don't you?" Aramis holds onto him even tighter, "you could have died you idiot."_

" _She's dead," it comes out in a croak._

 _The brown eyes are round as saucers and he wonders if his friend is thinking about brain damage left in the wake of his latest splurge._

" _Anne," he manages past his raw throat, "they called to tell me she's dead. Anne is dead,"_

 _He knows he shouldn't be upset over it. She was a liar, a scammer, she had murdered his little brother and he shouldn't be feeling this spiky knot in his chest at the thought of her death._

 _What sort of a man does that make him?_

 _What sort of a brother?_

 _What sort of a son?_

 _His fingers twitch to grasp a bottle of wine._

" _I'm sorry to hear that," Aramis says, "it must be hard to lose someone you love this soon after Thomas,"_

 _His head rolls onto the pillow so fast it leaves him tasting bile. Yet he cannot help but stare at the man whose bright eyes have a wet gleam over them. Despite the sting of the needle at the move, his grip tightens reflexively around the fingers that slip into his hand._

" _But you need to stop this Athos," Aramis says, his voice far steady than he looks and with a strength that promises of deeper reserves, "You're not alone Athos. You need to fight and you need to live…"_

… he pulled in a sharp breath that broke into a hacking cough.

His back hit something hard and flat as rough hands propped him up. His own bound hands grazed over the filthy wall at his back as he forced his head up from where it had hung low enough to have his chin resting on his chest.

"Back with us then?" Mendoza came forward.

Athos cleared his throat and glanced at the men who were closing the manacle around his waist.

"Unfortunately,"

"Don't be in such a hurry to leave us Athos; my money is still missing,"

"And it'll remain that way,"

"We'll see," Mendoza rubbed his hands together and stepped back from him.

Athos did his best to not put any weight on his damaged ankle, it was clear that he would be standing here for a while. The metal around his waist made sure of that and was supporting a big lock, the key of which was handed over to Mendoza.

He looked past the man at the room he was now in and realized he was in a long chamber that may at one time had been the main shop-floor of the building. But the conveyer belt looping around the hall was caked with dust and missing in places, the thick pillars that dotted the area were covered in random words painted in black and shades of neon dulled over time. The light of the morning was bright in the abandoned work area, filtering in through the smashed windows set in the far wall in front of him.

"See there?" Mendoza stood beside him and pointed to the nearest pillar.

Athos glanced at the way he pointed and felt his heart beat wildly against his chest at the sight of a primed crossbow targeting his way.

"And the one over there," Mendoza pointed to the one a few pillars over, this one set up higher, "there are eleven in all, and you see the clocks tapped with them? They're set up to the alarm in three hours from now. When the alarm rings…"

Athos didn't need for him to spell it out, he could barely make out the wire from the distance but he understood the meaning, he may not understand the mechanism but he could see what the result would be.

It took every ounce of his self control to give the man beside him a bland look.

"Shout when you've change your mind about talking," Mendoza said, "There are other matters I need to see to."

It was only when he was sure that he was completely alone that Athos resumed his efforts to free his hands. A huge part of him knew even if he succeeded he wouldn't be able to escape the metal around his waist without the key; he only hoped that his brothers found him in time because in three hours eleven crossbow bolts would execute him where he stood.

* * *

 **TBC**

 **Thank you everyone who read, follow and favorite this story. Debbie, Clara, Ruth and Guest thank you for taking the time to leave me your thoughts, it makes me happy to know you're enjoying the story. To all those who leave me reviews, THANK YOU! hearing form you all makes my day.**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: WARNING: Violence ahead. For that this chapter is rated M**

* * *

He rummaged through the bag and made sure he had enough rolls of bandages and duct tapes; sometimes these had been the only things he had to hold together the people around him and Aramis had learned through experience the importance of the combination. A tremble went down his spine as his thoughts raced ahead to Athos and zipping close the bag he stuffed it back in the foot-space before grabbing the other one.

As the car sped on at a pace Porthos rarely employed, Aramis prepared their side-arms.

"Get off the main road at the next turn," d'Artagnan spoke up from his seat in the back, "we may be able to save time this way."

"Are you sure," Porthos asked.

"Yes, it takes two and a half hours to get there and this route might save us fifteen minutes,"

Porthos grunted and took the turn, Aramis felt the seatbelt dig in his side and glanced at the white knuckled grip his friend had on the steering wheel. The big man gave him a sideways look and he knew that the worry there wasn't what had his brother on the edge, Porthos had been studying him ever since their little incidence on the roof with Dujon.

They had deposited the three men with the building security before the police could get there on Alice' call and had ducked out without drawing any further attention to themselves. Aramis rechecked the safety on the weapons and laid them gently on his lap.

"I knew he would talk," he said quietly, "if correctly motivated."

"And if he hadn't? Would you have dropped him?"

He couldn't answer it either way.

"I'm glad he didn't wait for us to find out," he said.

Porthos flinched and Aramis looked away.

He could feel d'Artagnan's surprised eyes on him and he was aware of the sad look his brother tossed his way every now and then. Still Aramis kept his eyes fixed onto the passing greenery, there were a lot of things he could face but the pity in his brother's face wasn't one of them.

He was aware that he was broken; he didn't need the confirmation from Porthos.

No one said a word for the rest of the ride until d'Artagnan announced that they were five minutes from the factory's gates. Porthos stopped the car and reversed it much to the boy's surprise and Aramis rolled his eyes at the younger one's bewildered expression.

"There's no need to announce ourselves," the big man told d'Artagnan as he turned the car into a grove of trees, "if we're lucky they wouldn't even know we were there."

He guided the car through the uneven terrain and parked it where it could not be seen from the road. The late afternoon sun filtered through the canopy above and mixing with the shadows worked perfectly to camouflage the vehicle. As they exited from the car Aramis only hoped that Athos was not in a condition that would make the distance to the car a problem.

Closing the door behind him Aramis turned to see the two men glaring at each other.

"And where do you think you're going?" Porthos blocked d'Artagnan's way.

The younger man blinked up at him; his eyes narrowed and chin out.

"I'm coming with you,"

"No you're not,"

"You can't stop me,"

"I think I can spare some of my duct tape," Aramis offered, "but I'd rather have you ready with the car when we get back with Athos."

D'Artagnan frowned at him, looking unsure as he crossed his arms before him and widened his stance to hold his ground. Aramis raised a brow, he could see the fear lurking in those dark eyes but it was eclipsed by defiant stubbornness, he had known it wouldn't be easy to intimidate the lad.

"You get the duct tape while I hold him down?" Porthos asked.

Aramis shook his head and couldn't stop by responding to his brother's grin with his own. Taking the keys from Porthos, he grasped d'Artagnan by the shoulder and turned him back to the car. He dropped the keys in the young hacker's hand.

"We need you to be our getaway," he said and hoped that the boy would take it as the sign of trust that it was, "so don't run off before we get back."

The narrow face regarded him with a grim sort of weariness, lips pursed close in a thin line and dark eyes intent. Until d'Artagnan gave a short nod and let his arms drop by his side in a huff.

"Fine," he said grumbling some choice words that left the other two men grinning.

"Good boy," Aramis couldn't help but pat the younger man on the head, grinning at the deep scowl as the hacker halfheartedly shoved him away, "and don't destroy the upholstery," Aramis said.

D'Artagnan threw him a rude gesture and went around the car to sit behind the steering wheel. Smiling at the dark glare focused his way; Aramis followed Porthos' lead by tucking his weapon at the small of his back and walking out of the grove. They trudged along the dirt edge of the road in silence until the red bricked building came into view.

The 'L' shaped structure was four storeys tall and deceptively quiet. They moved in an unspoken agreement, scanning the overgrown grounds and ducking low to avoid detection from the many windows at the ground floor. They came up on either side of the single door set in the building face and pressed back flat against the wall.

"You do know that he's trying to help right his wrong don't you?" Aramis said as he moved under the ledge to peer in through the broken gap in the smoggy window glass.

There were only two men posted inside and he mused that either Mendoza was overconfident or this place wasn't as important as they had thought. Praying it was the first one, Aramis signaled the number to his friend.

His irritation flaring as the big man snuck opened the door and slipped inside without warning. Cursing under his breath Aramis followed him in and found the two guards unconscious.

"I know he's trying, I just don't want to see him dead because of it," Porthos grinned at him as they worked to strip the men of their weapons.

"Aww Porthos you do care," Aramis smirked and quickly zip-tied the guards, taping their mouths shut.

"He's a good kid, but reckless," Porthos nodded as they moved carefully through the desolate lobby.

"Which one of us isn't?"

Aramis didn't glance back as he caught the shadow of the man on patrol in the corridor ahead and moved forwards to wrap an arm around his throat. When he felt the man go limp in his grasp he let him slump against the wall, working quickly to secure him.

He stopped at the end of the corridor and felt Porthos come to a standstill a few steps behind him. He glanced back to find his friend looking at him with a mixture of amusement and exasperation. Aramis shrugged a shoulder, a grin twitching at the corner of his lips that had the big man rolling his eyes.

"Fine but if I find a motorcycle in his garage I'm dismantling it," Porthos said.

Aramis turned his gaze around from scouring the hall beyond and glared at the man.

"I knew it. I knew it was you."

He had been sure it was Porthos that had left his dear Mercury in pieces but his friend had never accepted it out loud, even when he had helped Aramis put it back together before they had joined the army.

"Yeah well better me dismantling it than you crashing it,"

"It happened one time and it wasn't that bad an accident," he said before it struck him, "wait, you destroyed my motorcycle out of some twisted protective instincts?"

Porthos crossed his arms and glared right back at him.

"What do you think?"

"I thought it was pent up rage from not going to the Court,"

"It was pent up rage at you nearly breaking open your skull," Porthos walked past him and grabbed the nearest man from the five who had been playing cards.

Aramis followed close, taking out the first with the butt of his weapon to the head, disarming the second and dipping under the punch coming his way from the third. He turned to knock out the second one, aware that Porthos would take care of the other. A grin escaped him when he turned to find his friend lowering the unconscious man over the two by his feet.

Working in tandem they made sure this lot wouldn't be a problem in the near future.

Aramis straightened to regard the rotting sofas and a few broken tables that spoke of the area once used as a break room. To his left was a corridor lined by doors on either side, some of which were thrown open from where washed out sunlight spilled through; and up ahead of him the hall continued past the two staircases.

"Between the three of us, I think we'll make a psychologist very rich one day," he told his friend before nodding to the corridor, "I'll take that and you search ahead?"

"We meet back here,"

Aramis nodded and held his weapon ready; this was the part he hated, the point where he had to see one of his brothers go into danger alone. But it was a mutual feeling and the warnings were loud though unspoken between them as they parted ways.

He moved along the shadows of the corridor, peering around moldy door frames and gently pushing open doors that were close. Room after room he found empty and abandoned and a strange feeling crawled up his spine. This was too simple, too easy and Aramis couldn't shake his unease over it.

Stopping at the end of the corridor Aramis stared at the closed door before him. It was built out of heavy metal and at the back of his mind he knew what he was looking at. Holding his weapon steady he reached out and opened the door, ready to face a an abandoned freezer that he had little hope of being clean considering the state of the building.

Chilly mist rolled out to him.

Freezing and dry on his skin…

… _snow crunching under his boots, the smell of frozen woods lingered about him when the sound of gunshot in the distance broke the air…_

…Aramis shook his head and pried his fingers away from the door handle. This was not right; the factory was abandoned so there was no need for a working freezer. He didn't want to consider what Mendoza needed it for and sucked in a sharp breath, the horrible thought dawning at him that Athos could be in there…

… _his eyes catch the sharp blue ones of his friend and they drop the firewood they had been collecting. It's a secure area they are sure of it, but his fear is reflected in Marsac's gaze as the two of them break into a jog to get back to the campsite…_

…he shivered and zipped closed his jacket.

The fluorescent light thickened the haze about him as his breath puffed out in shredded plumes. His heart fluttered in his chest at the thought of finding his brother in there as his eyes darted from the empty meat hooks to regard what his toe had bumped into.

Milky eyes in a sunken face gazed back at him from the floor…

… _he's dropping to his knees by the black clad figure on the ground, the red stain had spread too dark under the man yet he hoped to find a pulse under the cold skin. The blank look in Marvin's eyes is fixed on the way they had come from._

" _He was coming for us," Marsac moves ahead with caution._

 _He gently closes the dark eyes of the dead young man and follows his friend..._

…the shudder that rocked him had nothing to do with the cold he wasn't registering any more. The body at his feet had taken a bullet to the head and Aramis blinked rapidly until his mind linked the face with the name.

He had found Cornet.

Beside him were his men, but there were more than four bodies in the room.

"Not Athos please," it fell from numbing lips in a desperate plea, "not Athos, not Athos, not Athos,"

He stumbled ahead from one body to the next, hoping, wishing, praying that he would wake up from this nightmare…

… _Donovan, O'Bryan, Williams…_

…"Not Athos, not Athos…"

… _the coppery tang of blood in the air; Corbin, David, Henry…"_

… "Please not Athos…"

… _Matt, Anthony, George, Tommy…_

…he swallowed back the urge to throw up. Aramis never registered the men who came in after him, he never saw the butt of the gun that smacked against the back of his head and dropped him unconscious.

* * *

He pressed back against the wall and peered around the edge. The staircase beside him lay silent and he let his gaze travel to the one opposite. The dust on the chipped tiles was disturbed by many feet that had trodden up and down the stairs recently, but as he cocked his head to the side to listen for the sound of footsteps there were none forthcoming.

Porthos hurried across the stair cases and past the broad closed panels of service elevators. He stopped before the wide double doors set at the end of the hall and squinted through the square glass in the door that may once had been clean. He could make out machinery and what could be a conveyer belt in the room ahead.

Weary of people who could be behind any piece of equipment, Porthos nudged open the doors just enough to slip through.

The wall far to his side was mostly windows and despite the grime on the broken glass panes the light was still too much for his liking. Porthos moved slowly, making sure to not make a sound as he covered the distance from pillar to pillar.

"Porthos…?"

There by the wall, hair plastered to his skull, pale as a ghost was Athos.

In three long bounds Porthos crossed the distance between them and wrapped an arm around his brother's shoulders pulling him in an embrace. He didn't miss the way the other man shivered in his grasp and held on even tighter, letting both their fears abate as he ignored the moisture that burned in the corner of his eyes.

"Thought I'd find you half dead," he pulled back, noticing the damp clothes as he grasped the back of Athos's neck and gave it a gentle squeeze.

"There still may be a chance of that," Athos said.

"What?" Porthos stepped back further, "where are you hurt?"

He noticed that his friend was leaning against the wall, but not out of choice. His blood boiled at the manacle locked around the man's waist and anger flashed hot in his eyes at the sight of the destroyed bandage around the ankle that clearly spoke of its mistreatment.

Porthos knew the manacle was closed with the lock but it didn't stop him from grasping the metal and pulling with all his might, he wanted to rip the thing right out of the wall.

Athos coughed and reached out to him.

"Stop, stop, the key's with Mendoza,"

Porthos found it hard to pull his gaze away from the torn and bloody wrists, the rope still hanging around one of them.

"The crossbows," Athos rasped and cleared his throat, "you have to stop them,"

Porthos glanced the way his brother was looking and saw what he was talking about. Taking out his dagger from the sheath around his leg he marched over to the pillar and cut the silver wire that seemed to link the crossbow to the mechanism around the clock taped beside it. It seemed the clock was a timer waiting to depress the trigger of the crossbow.

"There are ten more," Athos said, "and around thirty minutes left before they set off,"

Rage seethed under his skin as he grit his teeth and went over to the other crossbow Athos had nodded towards, he wanted to beat Mendoza into a bloody pulp for putting his friend in a kill-trap like some injured animal. Porthos looked around until he found a plastic barrel that he used to reach the second one and then the third, fourth and fifth crossbow; Mendoza had made sure to have them spread out over the area and it took him a minute to spot the next one.

That was when the double doors were thrown open.

Porthos turned with his weapon only to find all the weapons of his enemy pointed not at him but towards his injured friend.

"Look at that Athos, I didn't have to chase them down after all," Mendoza moved past the three men who had accompanied him, "and I'm sure they'll know where The Hound is,"

Porthos found the man studying him and tamped down on the urge to shudder at the uncomfortable crawling gaze.

"You know where the hacker is," Mendoza studied him,"isn't that so?"

"Even if I did, what makes you think I'll tell you?"

"I have my ways," a smile slithered onto the man's face, "just like I know you'll drop your weapon and give yourself up,"

Porthos' finger curled around the trigger and three guns pointed at Athos. He growled deep in his throat, hating the fact that he could do nothing to save his friend, that Mendoza had them both pinned in every way that mattered. Glancing aside he found his friend glaring at the enemy in tight lipped fury.

Porthos lowered his weapon slowly.

Let the man take it from his limp grasp.

And when the punch across his face came, Porthos hoped that Aramis would come in to tip the scales.

He wasn't much surprised at the next blow although he caught the fist the third time around. Mendoza grinned at him, his beady eyes flicking in the direction of Athos. The threat wasn't worded bit crystal clear and Porthos let go of the fist in his grip.

And then the blows rained wild.

Distantly he heard Athos yell at the man to stop but it seemed like ages until the heavy man was out of breath. Porthos reeled to grasp a pillar in order to keep standing.

"Bring him along," Mendoza ordered.

And hands grasped his arms, twisting them back and tying up his wrists. He refused to be dragged around and forced his feet under him, willing his legs to take his weight as he was pulled out of the workroom where Athos had been.

He shook his head to clear the blood from his eye that seeped from cut above it and found two men coming up to them from the opposite direction; between them they held up a limp figure Porthos would recognize anywhere.

"Aramis…"

"Ah yes, the other one," Mendoza spared a glance over his shoulder as he waddled up the stairs, "bring them up."

Even as he was thrown into a chair Porthos had his gaze fixed on his unconscious friend. It slightly eased the vice around his heart to see the man stirring as his arms were bound to the arms of the chair he was deposited in.

A growl ripped through him as Mendoza headed over to his friend and pulled his head up by his hair.

Aramis winced as his dark eyes squinted at the face before him.

"So good of you to join us, I've been told you're rather a violent sort," Mendoza said.

And just as Porthos had expected Aramis head-butted the man, rising up to his feet he rammed the chair back into the man behind him, throwing him against the wall with a bone jarring crunch.

"Enough!" Mendoza pressed the muzzle of his gun against Porthos' head, "sit down or I'll blow his brains out!"

Wide dark eyes sought out Porthos'.

He could tell that it was not just the mix of unconsciousness and capture that was churning in the turmoil in brother's gaze, he could read fear there and he knew Aramis feared not for himself but his friends.

"I found Athos alive," he said.

"For now," Mendoza snarled, wiping the blood from his nose.

Porthos paid him no mind and silently urged him friend to come out of the terror he was wading in. Moving slowly, his brother awkwardly sat back down in the chair he was bound to. Counting it as a win, their captor glanced at the unconscious man on the floor and grinned at Aramis.

"As I was saying," he said, "I know you two had been with The Hound this morning. So it makes sense that you would know where he is and he knows where my money is."

Mendoza fixed Aramis with a lewd grin.

"You will tell me where The Hound is,"

"Good luck with that happening," Aramis snorted.

Mendoza turned around and Porthos had no time to brace himself for the meaty fist that connected with the side of his face. His teeth clicked with the force of the hit and he bit his cheek, blood coating the inside of his mouth immediately.

"Wrong answer," Mendoza said, "where is The Hound?"

Aramis stayed quiet.

Porthos' head snapped back at the next hit. Blood trickled out of the cut high on his cheek and soaked his beard.

"Wrong answer again," Mendoza smirked at the other man and repeated his question.

Aramis' eyes had a wet sheen over them, his face as white as a polished marble and just as blank as a statue carved out of it. Porthos silently willed his brother to not give the boy up; he could take a few hits he was sure, in fact he bet himself that he could take more hits than Mendoza had the stamina to dole out.

The next hit left his ears ringing.

When he rolled his head back straight it was to meet his brother's gaze head on. He could tell Aramis had understood the plea and he reveled in the silent support that bore him forwards for the next blows.

His friend didn't flinch once, nor did he look away.

The mute agony in the brown eyes fixed on him bolstered his fortitude. It was as he had wanted that eventually Mendoza was left gasping for breath. And still Aramis held his gaze even though Porthos could only see out of his right eye, his left having swollen shut by then.

"Just to let you know Mendoza," Aramis' voice didn't waver, his tone was flat and he didn't look at the man, "I will punch your face in for this."

Porthos sat up straighter as something darker than pain and helpless grief flashed in the eyes that beheld him. The large man beside him gulped in a few more breaths before he raised his hand and wriggled his thick fingers at Aramis.

"And I drowned Athos under my hand, what'll you do about that?" he challenged.

"Nail it to the wall,"

Mendoza laughed.

But Porthos saw what lurked in his brother's eyes and he pitied the laughing fool; all the while hoping and praying that d'Artagnan had had the sense to call backup by now.

* * *

He had rolled down the car window and was halfway draped out of it. The sun had begun nearing the horizon a while ago and d'Artagnan glanced again at the way the other two had gone. Worry nibbled at his thoughts as he tried to keep them from straying towards horrible scenarios. Staring through the gap in the trees he gazed at the road beyond and sat up abruptly when a car sped by.

He could have sworn that he had seen Dujon behind the steering wheel.

D'Artagnan exited the car and made to the edge of the road, staring down the way the car had gone and wishing that there was some way to confirm his suspicions. Last he had had seen Dujon, the man and his two companions were awaiting the police to take a shake of his head d'Artagnan hurried back to the car as he dialed the number of Treville's office on his mobile phone, the only way of contact he had with the man. The engine revved to life as muttered under his breath for the Captain to take the call.

He had just managed to guide the vehicle back onto the road when the Captain picked up.

"Treville,"

"Captain this is d'Artagnan we found Athos at least I think we did because Aramis and Porthos said that Mendoza would have holed up in a place the police wouldn't know about and Alice said had Cornet found the workshop and Dujon told us where it is but now I think Dujon is here and the other two aren't back yet and I think they might in trouble –"

"d'Artagnan?" he could hear the frown in the Captain's voice, "slow down lad what are you talking about? Where are the other two?"

He stared down the road as the car ahead turned right onto a faded dirt path and he just knew that if Dujon was here it couldn't end well for the two who had gone in there. They were in there because of his mistakes and d'Artagnan had had just about enough of the mess that seemed to keep on stretching from that one error.

No one had ever accused him of being patient.

"D'Artagnan?"

He jumped slightly at the sharp voice in his ear and drew the phone away from himself. With another shake of his head he set the car in motion, ignoring the Captain's demand for his attention as he turned onto the path which led to the rusting gates of the factory that were thrown open wide. Eyeing the silent building before him and the car that was rolling ahead over its grounds, he put the phone back to his ear.

"Trace my phone Captain and bring help," he tossed the device on the seat beside him.

This was Athos' car and he felt a twinge of guilt for what he was about to do; but he figured one more notch after what he had done to the man, especially in the way of saving his life was worth it. D'Artagnan rechecked his belt, took a deep breath and sped the car on, leaving a cloud of dust in its wake.

Aramis and Porthos had wanted quiet and stealthy but clearly that wasn't the way he mused as a grin broke on his face, his head wobbling slightly as the car flew over the bumpy ground. He saw the surprise in Dujon's eyes as the man turned away for a hasty exit just before d'Artagnan drove Athos' car into the side of the other vehicle.

The seat belt dug a burning line across his torso as white filled in his vision. The airbags knocked the breath out of him.

His chest hurt.

Gasping at the spreading fire in his breath he curled an arm around his ribs and could have promised anyone who would believe him that he felt the cracks in his bones under his hand.

Forcing his head up d'Artagnan peered through the windshield across the crushed metal; his swimming vision took some minutes to focus on the men in the car beyond. He couldn't tell if they were dead or unconscious but d'Artagnan hopped that it was the latter. He knew that even when they would come around it would be a struggle to escape from the vehicle that was pinned to the wall.

With a trembling hand he unbuckled the seatbelt and exited the car. Cradling his aching ribs he slowly made his way to the door, hoping the others had made use of the distraction he had offered. His brain, half addled by the pain that rose and fell with every breath, failed to caution him about the way he simply walked into the factory.

He only paused when he saw the two men squirming in their bindings.

"Huh," he nodded vaguely, "so they went by here,"

The men wriggled as he sucked in a breath and bent to pick up one of the discarded weapons. The gun was an awkward weight in his grasp as he moved on ahead. D'Artagnan was not much surprised to find another bunch of tied up men left in the hall and wondered what his life had come to be.

"No need to get up on my account gentlemen," he walked past the fidgeting group.

Stopping only when he heard rapid footfalls ahead.

He stood more than halfway across the hall and watched two figures appear out of bend in the wall a few feet away from him. Two figures that he did not recognize and d'Artagnan raised his weapon and fired. The sound wasn't as deafening as the pain that rolled down his shoulder and into his lungs at the force of the recoil.

D'Artagnan clenched his eyes shut and gasped as two more shots rang out.

Pressing a hand against the wall for support he did a mental check for new wounds. He reasoned that he wouldn't be standing if there were any bleeding bullet holes and blinked open his eyes. It was to see the two men sprawled onto the ground, one of them lying still while the other clutched at his bleeding leg. His eyes widened with surprise as relief edged cautiously closer in his thoughts.

D'Artagnan staggered ahead and stopped by the wounded men to look up at the landing where Aramis stood. The man nodded at him as he threw aside a gun and turned away, unwinding what looked like wooden arms of a chair from his forearms.

"Get Porthos," he tossed over his shoulder.

D'Artagnan frowned as he slowly made his way up the stairs. He had expected a better welcome, had been looking forward to surprise if not gratitude at least.

"Hello d'Artagnan fancy meeting you here," he muttered under his breath in a singsong voice, "I just thought you might need me to save your sorry butts. Oh please, we were just waiting to see if you'd follow us in. How terribly clever of you."

He stopped the one man conversation he had going when he reached the landing and wiped his forehead with his sleeve.

"Oh joy more stairs,"

"And where do you think you're off to Mendoza?" Aramis voice filtered down to him.

D'Artagnan pushed ahead.

Now that he paid attention to it there was something off in the man's voice, something like the chilly edge of a bloodthirsty blade. He came up into the corridor to find Mendoza backtracking from an advancing Aramis.

"The Hound! You were here all along!" the large man stopped in his tracks.

"I can see you're busy so let me just get out of your way," d'Artagnan gave him a smug grin and crossed into the room that had the door left open.

Inside he found a man unconscious and bleeding from his shoulder but that was not what brought him to a breath stuttering halt. It was the man slumped in the chair beyond.

"Porthos?" he exhaled.

If the man heard him he made no response, his head remained eerily still where it was dipped down to his chest. D'Artagnan felt relieved tears sting his eyes at the sight of the chest moving, he hadn't even realized how much it would hurt to see one of these idiots dead.

Slowly he crouched before the man and reached up. Carefully, gently, he braced the face with a hand on either side and lifted.

The sight made his blood boil.

Both of Porthos' eyes were swollen shut, his skin puffed and broken in places.

"Porthos?" he whispered, "C'mon now. You can't let this beat you."

The bloodied lips moved, twitched as though in a smile.

"St'll unbeat'n,"

"That's right," he grinned, eyes bright with unshed tears, "just hold on alright? I'm going to free your hands."

He hurried behind the man and took his switchblade to the blood soaked ropes; curses falling from his lips when he felt the blade slip and nick the torn skin further. When his arms fell free beside him it was only d'Artagnan's quick reflexes that stopped Porthos from toppling off the chair as he sagged.

"Whoa hey! Alright, alright, I gotcha," d'Artagnan grunted under the weight.

" 'thos, d'wn in w'rksh'p." Porthos gasped, "needs 'elp. Keys w'M'nd'za,"

"We'll get to him,"

"No time," Porthos pushed away from him, "keys w'M'nd'za. N'time."

D'Artagnan helped the man lean back against the wall and patting his knee he pushed again to his feet.

"I'll get the keys and Athos," he said.

He went on into the corridor where the screams had died down; thick whimpers filled the air instead. D'Artagnan carefully approached Aramis who had Mendoza stuck to the wall as he proceeded to deliver blow after blow to the man's face. He averted his eyes from the damage and called to Aramis.

Once, twice.

D'Artagnan shifted on his feet.

"Aramis, Porthos needs your help," he said.

The man stopped, fist still raised in the air.

The eyes that turned to regard him were of death itself.

D'Artagnan shifted back a step.

"Porthos needs you and apparently Athos is running out of time," he was proud that his voice came out steady, "Mendoza has the keys that I need."

Aramis blinked.

He turned back to the man in his hold and stepped back from him. They watched quietly as Mendoza slumped down to the floor.

Taking it as a permission to approach d'Artagnan darted forwards and began searching for the keys, keeping his gaze deliberately below the man's face. His success on his find turned to sickening horror when he saw Aramis unsheathe the dagger strapped to his leg and went ahead to use it to pin Mendoza's hand to the wall next to his tilted head.

"I'll get Porthos," Aramis said.

* * *

He had tried.

There were parallel lines in bruises around his waist where the manacle had cut into his skin.

With most of his weight on his good foot it had been a pathetic struggle.

But he had tried, not by the thought of saving himself but his brothers.

The fact that Aramis hadn't found him after Porthos told him that his other friend had been captured as well. Athos did not want to be the leverage held over his friends; he refused to do nothing while he was sure they suffered. Breathing heavily, he slumped back against the wall and blinked away the sweat from his eyes. His uninjured food ached but that was nothing compared to the bone deep throb in his other ankle. According to the nearest clock he had a little under ten minutes left.

Fear was a strange flavor on his tongue.

It left his heart racing as if it could outrun death.

Athos bit back a scream.

The last thing he wanted was to beg for mercy from where he knew it wouldn't come. He had a feeling that should he yell Mendoza would drag his brothers to him and make them witness his end. If he was to die he wouldn't want that to be the most powerful memory of him for his brothers.

But Athos did not want to die.

He sucked in a breath and strained against the metal.

His head shot up as the double doors opened and d'Artagnan half ran half stumbled in like a disoriented colt.

"Athos!" he rushed over, gasping for breath, "Athos!"

He held out the silver key in his hand, his other pressed against the side of his chest. Athos snatched it from his grasp as the boy bent to clasp his knees and breathe. As he turned the key in the lock, he kept an eye on the young hacker who seemed about to keel over.

It clicked.

He pulled.

The lock didn't open.

Athos looked up in horror at the clock.

Five minutes.

"The crossbows," Aramis called from the door, "cut the wires!"

Athos turned his head to see him supporting Porthos. As d'Artagnan hurried to the nearest rigged crossbow Aramis eased his friend down next to the nearest pillar and hurried over to Athos. There was a thick bunch of keys in his hands.

"One of them has to work right?"

Athos nodded as his friend set to work and over his shoulder he saw d'Artagnan using the same plastic barrel Porthos had used to reach the wires he had to cut; the frown on his face a mixture of pain and determination. Athos looked back down when he heard the lock open. His breath hitched as Aramis quickly drew it out and threw it away.

Three minutes.

Aramis pulled at the manacle, trying to pry open where the curved metal joined to form the loop. They each held onto the curved bar of thick metal and pushed and pulled. Athos' grip slipped and he dropped his weight on his broken ankle, gasping at the spike of thorny pain that shot up to his hip.

"It's alright Athos, you're alright," Aramis' voice filtered through the haze of pain, "I've got you,"

Sucking in a deep breath Athos looked to d'Artagnan. He had lost track of how many crossbows the younger man had disarmed but he could see that he was still pushing the blue plastic barrel towards another pillar yet.

The clock announced there were barely two minutes left to him.

"There's no way to stop this," it left him in a hushed tone, "it's over 'Mis."

"No," Aramis held him by his upper arms and ducked to catch his gaze, "it's not over Athos, you're not dying today."

Moisture rose unbidden in his eyes and he found himself clutching at his brother's hand that rested on his arm.

"It's –"

"It will be alright," Aramis bit out, "we'll get through this."

It was probably the biggest and last lie of his life but Athos nodded along. He looked past Aramis at the young hacker who was pushing the barrel to another pillar and to Porthos who was trying to get to his feet using the pillar at his back.

There was less than a minute left.

Athos looked to Aramis and in that instance he knew. He knew that his brother was aware of what was going on behind him; he knew that the man was alert to the slipping time and to his horror Athos knew now what he was up to.

"No," he shook his head and shoved at his friend, "No!"

Aramis' fingers' dug in his biceps and the man had the nerve to give him an infuriated glare.

With a rage that crackled under his skin Athos glared back.

"MOVE DANM YOU!"

"No,"

Eleven alarms wailed –

–Porthos stumbled to his knees –

–one crossbow triggered –

–d'Artagnan stopped in his tracks –

–one bolt flew to its mark –

–it found two.

* * *

 **TBC**

 **This was the first coherent chapter in my mind for this story hence the faster update :) [with that ending, not sure if its a good thing though]**

 **Thank you everyone who read, follow and favorite this story. To the people who leave me reviews you are the reason I write when I should be asleep [and I DO need it] and Clara, Ruth and Debbie thank you so much for your continuous support, your words leave me grinning like a fool.**

 ***this is me running away to hide***


	7. Chapter 7

**WARNING for language, blood and medical inaccuracies.**

* * *

He could feel the shrill vibrations of the alarms in his teeth.

The wall was cold and hard where his friend had shoved him back at the last moment; it was in stark contrast to the fire spreading out in his ribs and Athos glanced down to find the bolt's head more than halfway buried in his chest. Only the blood coated tail end of the gleaming metal was visible.

His breath hitched.

His heartbeat pounded in his ears.

And the din around him swelled up like a vengeful bubble; magnifying the streaks of light piercing through the broken windows to ignite the dust and rust in the air as the sun touched the horizon outside. He looked up into his brother's eyes that were wide, pupils dilated in pain with only a rim of cognac brown visible around them.

The wailing of alarms stretched out and thinned, leaving a much louder silence in its wake. Aramis stumbled where he stood and Athos held onto his forearms even tighter, the need to push him away from seconds before encompassed by the sudden desire to hold on.

A soft gasp escaped his brother and the suspended time was suddenly sucked back into motion.

The sound of his own ragged breaths echoed in his head and fear spiked in his belly as Aramis' head dropped forwards. Athos reached out with trembling blood speckled hands and bracing it from each side lifted the head back up. His terrified eyes roamed over the face where pain was written in the thin line of pursed lips and in the pinched corners of closed eyes.

"What have you done?" his voice was low and trembling.

Aramis' jaw twitched under his palm until the man let a go a slow exhale.

Dark eyes fluttered open.

"I – I was –" Aramis began but fear swiftly washed out the agony in that gaze, "Athos!"

Athos followed his line of sight to where the bolt had come to rest and watched the hands from his shoulders slide down to shakily hover over the wound in his chest. He winced when one of the hands rested near the point where the metal was imbedded in his flesh, Athos could feel the points of it grating against his ribs and bit back a hiss.

"You don't taste blood do you?" Aramis swallowed thickly and looked up at his face before glancing back down, "did it get to your lung?"

"I should be asking you that,"

Aramis' breathing was shallow but deliberately measured.

"How bad Aramis?" Athos asked, eyes trailing to the bolt.

It had struck to the right side of his back, in his shoulder, and had exited at a lower point to the side of his chest. There wasn't a great deal of blood but Athos was well aware that there could be much more damage than met the eye.

"How bad?"

Aramis frowned and let his right hand slide down from Athos' chest to hang by his side.

"It missed everything vital I think,"

"You think?" Athos bit out as he let go of the face and clasping his brother's uninjured shoulder stopped just shy of shaking the man, "you think? When do you ever think?"

An upwards twist appeared at the corner of Aramis' lips.

"Well there was that one time…"

Athos silently dared him to finish the sentence.

Aramis ducked his head.

A hollow clang of the plastic barrel dropping to the floor rang out from beyond and startled Athos, the jerk left both men wincing and holding onto each other. Pacing his breath against the latest jolt of pain he let his head fall back against the wall and caught sight of d'Artagnan who stared back at him with unshed tears bright in his eyes.

"Help get Porthos over here," he told the young hacker.

D'Artagnan hurried over to the big man who had a hand pressed against the pillar as he swayed up to his feet. Wrapping one of Porthos' arms around his shoulders he helped him over to the other two, staggering under the weight of the man who tripped over his own feet in a mixture of haste and dizziness.

Carefully he helped the man sit onto the dusty floor with his back to the wall.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," it fell from his lips in torrents.

"I'll take 'at 'fore y' cut open either 'f us," Porthos took the switchblade that d'Artagnan hadn't thought about discarding in his urgency, " 'an what're you sorry about?" asked the man.

Shaking his head the young one wiped an arm over his reddening eyes and braced a hand against the side of his ribs as he straightened. Scared dark eyes sought out Athos' but it was Thomas' face that abruptly flashed before his eyes; it was all he could do to not lose his precious footing at the punch to the gut that memory was.

"Is he – is he dead," d'Artagnan asked.

The dark head that had fallen forward again rose up at the inquiry and Aramis offered him a tight smile.

"Stuck rather firmly to the here and now I would say," he breathed out.

Athos' eyes narrowed in seething rage and his fingers dug into the man's shoulder with enough force to make him wince.

"Please refrain from horrible puns until I can punch you to the floor for them," he said.

"Y've made 'im truly mad now 'Mis," Porthos tilted his head up a bit, a sliver of a single eye becoming visible, "can't blame 'im though."

The sight of his friend's damaged face left the simmering anger in Athos' veins burning hotter, these two idiots were here because they had come looking for him and now one was impaled and the other beaten senseless. He clenched his jaw shut to keep from screaming at them and reminded himself that it was something he would have done for either of them if the roles were reversed. Then there was d'Artagnan whose eyes trailed over the silver shaft that disappeared into one body only to appear on its other side and disappear into another.

The young man shook his head slowly.

"You're insane," he said.

Athos felt Porthos shift closer to him, felt the solid press of his shoulder by his knee and glanced down at his friend who was silently offering support. His eyes stung for reasons far from the pain coursing like shockwaves under his skin and he let his good leg rest against his brother, relieved to have him take the weight when he needed something desperately to lean on.

"You're all completely insane," d'Artagnan was staring at them with one hand in his hair and the other on his hip.

The look on his face reminded Athos of their Captain.

"Did you call for backup?" he asked.

"I called Treville before coming in,"

Porthos grunted in painful amusement, his head rolling against the wall as he closed his eyes.

" 'ee'll flay us f'r this,"

"We're already skewered," Aramis eyes slid down to him, "and you look like you went a few rounds with a meat tenderizer, we've done half his work for him it seems."

" 'an now y'r makin' me hungry,"

Aramis gave a chocked laugh before his eyes clenched shut at the movement; the latent vibrations travelled down the bolt and shoot up the agony from where the point was buried in Athos' flesh.

"Stop moving you stubborn fool,"

"Sorry,"

"Isn't that a comforting sentiment," it slipped out before Athos could stop it.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that you can do whatever the hell you want and then it's all alright because you're sorry,"

"You my friend have a weird way of showing gratitude,"

"And you have less sense of self-preservation than a single cell organism!" it wasn't fair Athos knew that but his pain addled thoughts needed focus and anger was good; it was better than the fear and utter helplessness that was churning in him, "In case it's something you cannot comprehend, you're supposed to get out of the way of the sharp objects flying your way!"

The shout ended in a gasp.

Athos' eyes widened as he pressed a hand flat to his chest.

It burned like his ribs were made of shattered glass that shifted and cut with every inhale and exhale. He shook his head slowly to somehow tamp down the desperate need pull in a huge breath because there wasn't enough air in his lungs, the shallow breaths were not enough; he needed more.

His head swam and a tickle erupted at the back of his throat.

Athos clenched his eyes shut to keep from coughing.

He jumped in his skin when a rough palm settled at the side of his neck; long fingers gave it a gentle squeeze and pulled him forwards. His head dipped and Aramis met him halfway, stopping when their foreheads knocked together and his brother held him there.

Solid, present, alive.

Athos hadn't even realized he had been shivering until it began dispersing from his wrung out muscles. The invisible vice around his chest eased slowly and the multiple aches receded to a manageable level. He felt the brush of dry lips against his clammy forehead and tears sprung in his eyes.

"Not when it means they will hit your brother," Aramis said.

* * *

D'Artagnan swallowed hard and turned his blurry eyes to his shoes.

This is what he could have destroyed in his blindness. Could have taken Athos from the people to whom he mattered so much and who mattered so much to him.

His eyes flicked down to where Porthos' side was pressed against Athos' good leg offering it much needed support; and then up to where Aramis held Athos by the shoulder while the man himself had his fingers tangled in Aramis' sleeves.

He had heard stories of friendships that ran deeper than blood and brotherhoods that mattered more than life, witnessing it was a different thing altogether.

D'Artagnan stared back at the floor.

"I saw s'm crates the las' time I was in th's room," Porthos' voice cut through to him, "Can y' get one d'Art?"

He nodded and turned away without a word, scowling at the tears that had slipped past his defenses. It was the sense of familiarity in the shortened name these men had taken to call him that unexpectedly struck some hollowed point in his heart and left a salty lump in his throat. Even the people who knew him outside of his criminal persona, like Signor Enzo, knew a false identity. But these men hadn't just seen him for who he was; they had somehow accepted it and deemed it worthy of familiarity.

He picked up two of the empty wooden crates left by the door to the shop-floor and made his way back in time to catch Aramis' wink at Porthos, although he had a feeling the big man did not catch it.

"I'm just saying when a concussed man has better ideas than you; it says something about your leadership mon frère,"

Athos glared at the man before him but turned to d'Artagnan as he approached. Porthos too shifted where he had tipped his head back against the wall and d'Artagnan winced at his attempt to open his one eye that would take the command.

"On th' 'ther side," the man told him, "un'r 'is dam'g'd f't,"

He moved to comply, arranging them in a way that would support the broken ankle that had been left suspended in the air far too long. The relief in the blue eyes that watched him was palpable and d'Artagnan ducked his head. This was after all his fault.

"A crowbar," Athos said, "I keep one in the boot of my car, it can pry this manacle lose from the wall."

"I'll get it,"

"And my bag," Aramis added, "it might help,"

D'Artagnan knew the bag he was talking about. Casting one last look at the three of them he hurried off, choosing not to assure them that the car wasn't far like they had left it. Across the double doors he moved as fast as his limited range of breath allowed him. But he had just moved past the redundant elevators when d'Artagnan had to pause with his arm cradled the side of his chest as a he pressed a hand to the wall for support, damaged ribs aching at the activity.

Ignoring the sweat that broke out over his forehead he squinted at the sight of two men lying in red patches at the foot of the staircase beyond.

Guilt swelled in the form of bile to his throat and he could feel the weight of the weapon that had been in his hand. He had taken a shot, fired once and he hadn't seen where that bullet had gone. D'Artagnan leaned a shoulder against the wall and forced himself to look past the limp figures.

Gathering his thoughts together lest they swirled into remorse he took as deep a breath as he could and pushed on; breaking into a jog when he felt his conscience give chase. There was no time for that now and d'Artagnan forced himself to keep his focus on the task at hand. He staggered through the main door of the abandoned factory and squinted against the receding sunlight.

Ignoring the car stuck to the wall he focused on the one he had come for.

Athos would never forgive him he mused as he stumbled toward his vehicle.

Finding the crowbar was easy and d'Artagnan tried not to wonder why the man carried it around, his imagination wasn't a happy place at the best of times and after what he had witnessed he could only conjure up the stuff of nightmare.

But the crowbar did prove useful instantly when he found that the he couldn't reach the foot-space in the front from the backseat and the door to the front passenger side refused to open. Wedging the end of the metal rod in the edge between the door and its frame he levered it with all his strength, gasping out a prayer of thanks when the door swung open.

His hands shook as he extracted the bag and landed back on his bottom clutching both the items.

A shadow fell near his feet, crawling up at his legs until he was completely enveloped.

D'Artagnan looked up to find Dujon staring down at him from over the muzzle of his gun.

"The Hound was it?"

He didn't reply, he didn't think, d'Artagnan swung the crowbar as far as he could with his damaged ribs and struck the man in the leg. His howl of pain broke through the quiet and d'Artagnan scrambled to his feet, reacting now only upon instincts. Breathing heavily, he shook off the dizziness that threatened to take him and moved towards the building.

He had only rounded around Athos' car when a harsh jerk to his ankle found the ground rushing to meet him. The impact knocked the breath out of his chest and he curled in on himself, arms wrapping around his torso.

"You have been more trouble than you're worth mutt," Dujon limped over to him, his face twisted into a deep scowl, "It'll be my pleasure to put you to sleep,"

And in a span of single day d'Artagnan found himself staring death in the face again.

* * *

The little finger in his right hand, the only one not swollen, twitched against the stab of pain that pulsed down from his shoulder. The headache that had been a constant since he had come around to face a tied up Porthos was white noise to the tiny spasms that broke into the muscles at his back.

But he had not lied to his brother, the bolt had pierced through his scapula but at an angle that he was sure had saved the major vein and artery there. It had clipped his ribs on the way out if he was to judge by the pain in his breath but there were no telltale signs of lung puncture.

He had known that Mendoza relished in stretching the pain of the people at his mercy and Aramis found it ironic how it seemed to have worked in their favor every time, even while getting shot with one of his many bolts.

His eyes drifted down to the wound in his front that he had expected to be larger than it was, before they shifted to the tip that had struck Athos. The silver bolt-head was no thicker than the shaft, for which he was quietly thankful, but even from the distance he could tell it was serrated; the tiny dents were vicious in an otherwise sharp metal end that looked like it was melded onto the shaft. He had seen field points less sleek than this and knew Mendoza had wanted Athos to suffer long before succumbing to his wounds.

"Hey, no zoning out on me," Athos' raspy voice filtered through and even as he lifted his head a hand squeezed the back of his neck.

Aramis frowned as his brother withdrew his grasp quickly; he almost winced at the murderous look that flashed on Athos' face.

"There's blood on your neck,"

"Oh," he would have nodded if he hadn't been afraid of throwing up, "got knocked on my head,"

To his relief Athos' attention was snagged by Porthos as the man shifted where he sat.

" tis alm'st like 'e knew we'r comin' "

Aramis stared down at his friend, the man's slurring words had been tightening the knot of worry in his gut and he wished that the Captain's reinforcements would get to them soon. But until then he had to keep Porthos awake.

"How do you know that?"

"N't many guards…"

"That's because he's over confident," Aramis countered.

"Repulsively so," Athos agreed.

Aramis glanced down when no retort was forthcoming.

"C'mon Porthos," he licked his lips and tried to keep his voice steady, "why do you think he knew?"

Porthos gave him a one eyed glare that broke something in him for reasons that had nothing to do with intimidation. His left hand tightened into a fist and he was sure the right would had followed if it had been able to.

"Knew we'r with the pup,"

"Could have guessed," Athos hazarded.

His hand had found a place in Porthos' hair; fingertips lightly scratching the scalp like one would of a cat. Aramis caught his eyes and found his own worry reflected there, his brother was trying his best to keep the big man in the present with them.

"Seemed pretty sure ta me," Porthos gave an aborted shrug, " 'side'z called 'Mis the violent one,"

He had opened his mouth to counter but Aramis clicked it shut abruptly. It dawned on him that his friend was right, Mendoza had known about it all, almost like he had been informed before they could get here.

"Dujon," he whispered.

"What?"

Blue eyes met brown.

Athos was already angry at him and he knew what he said next would only fan the flames. And yet it was the only way he could see this working. Pulling in a steadying breath he lifted his left hand and grasped his brother by the shoulder.

"I have to go after him,"

"Who're you talking about?"

"d'Artagnan; he's alone and we didn't find Dujon here but he must have contacted Mendoza before we arrived –"

"Aramis,"

"If the police didn't get to Dujon he would make his way here –"

"– and d'Artagnan had gone out alone," Athos ended in a whisper.

"I have to –"

"No," Athos shook his head only to stop with a harsh inhale, bracing the wound in his chest.

The ripples of pain around the bolt stuck in him turned to waves and Aramis stilled, closing his eyes to ride out the agony rolling down his back, unfurling to the tips of his fingers and settling in his chest.

"Porthos' concussed and you're trapped," his voice didn't betray the fear the words caused him.

"And you have a bloody arrow pinning you in place!"

"So we let the kid die?"

Athos' face was white, lips almost bloodless as he pursed them in distaste while the searing blue flames of his eyes took on a desperate edge; it was that more than anything that frightened Aramis.

"Fine," Athos said, "take this out."

Aramis stopped the hands that were reaching for the arrow head.

"You can pull it out and –"

"It's serrated Athos, it will do more damage if I pull it out," he explained as calmly as he could while his own heart rate picked up speed over the plan, "I'd try to get it off the shaft but it looks like its melded and the lung damage that we saved? There is a very high chance I might accidently puncture that lung."

Aramis' good hand shook as it wrapped around the shaft near the exit wound at his side, teeth clenched for to keep from the inevitable screaming.

"Never pull out the object embedded in the wound," Athos spoke as if he was reciting from a book.

"Very good," he prized the fact that his voice didn't tremble, "but I'm taking a chance that the damage isn't that bad since Mendoza looked for maximum pain instead of a quick kill."

"Aramis…"

"Besides, this way I'll just be using the route the bolt had made," he said, "no extra damage."

Athos looked pale and drawn, there was such a look of betrayal in his gaze that Aramis closed his eyes against it as he tightened his hold on the shaft, his right hand coming up to brace it from near the tip lest he accidently stabbed his brother.

"Wait," it was just above a whisper.

Athos tapped Porthos on the head.

"Wha –"

"Give me the switch blade,"

Aramis smiled at the ever tactical mind of his brother but it was lost to the pointed way Athos refused to look at his face. His jaw was clenched shut as he reached behind Aramis to the other end of the shaft and cleaved off the plastic vanes.

"Thank you,"

Athos ignored the words as he closed the blade and tossed it in Porthos' lap, gently tapping him on the head.

"No sleeping," he said.

Aramis bit his lip at the silent fury directed his way and pulling in a bracing breath he closed his eyes and pulled. A ragged chocked scream tore from him as the aluminum and carbon stick freed from his flesh and he staggered back to hit a spots danced in his vision as the world rocked like a boat tangled in waves. Sweat and tears mixed on his face to soak his beard while tremors coursed through his body. His side burned like someone had poured molten lead in his open wound and the sticky wetness spread quickly down his back and front.

When his gaze settled it was to the sight of raw fear in Athos' eyes fixed on him. His friend was pressed back against the wall, one arm wrapped around his lower ribs.

"Still alive," Aramis breathed out.

"By no effort on your part," Athos' voice was ice.

"Pup's righ' we're bl'dy insane," Porthos observed, although Aramis was sure both his brother's eyes had swollen shut by now.

The comment still brought a chuckle out of him and if it was riding on the endorphins his brain was flooding in his system to counter the pain, he didn't care. Pushing his wounded arm to the pillar he forced his feet under him and stood swaying. He plucked off the crossbow stuck to the pillar and half walked half stumbled down the way d'Artagnan had disappeared. Not concerned by the trail of crimson drops he left in his wake.

Crossing the hall he discarding the crossbow and went for one of the guns of the bound guards. Even as the move left him dizzy a smirk played on his lips as the trussed up men shifted away from him in wide eyed fear.

And like the butcher ghost of an abandoned meat factory Aramis drifted on.

He was in the lobby when a pain filled howl broke the air.

Cursing under his breath in five different languages Aramis pushed ahead until he came to the threshold. Leaning against the doorframe he took a second to adjust to the light and decipher the scene. When it clicked in his sluggish brain that it was d'Artagnan on the ground, Aramis raised the weapon and fired.

Dujon fell on his side screaming.

Aramis was hard-pressed to join him; his shoulder was killing him too despite the numbness that was taking slow hold of his body.

"Aramis?" someone slapped him, "Aramis, shit – you stupid bloody idiot – Aramis!"

"What?" he snapped.

"Don't close your eyes," d'Artagnan said, "tell me what to do!"

Aramis glanced at the man moaning on the ground beyond and frowned when he realized he too had landed on his butt somewhere in the recent past.

"Huh,"

"C'mon! I have your bag –"

"His weapon –"

"I have it," d'Artagnan said.

Aramis nodded.

The boy slapped him again.

"If this is the thanks I get –!"

His words broke off in a groan as something pressed hard against his wound.

"Then don't close your eyes and tell me what I need to do!"

The grin was no effort at the boy's frantic demands.

"You're doing right," he clumsily patted the hand holding the bandage to his front, "put another one at the back and tape it up."

He watched in a detached sort of interest as the young man did as he was asked and knew on some level that this floating sensation was not good. His thoughts were pulled back to the present when the sound of retching found him.

Aramis blearily stared at the groaning boy who was hunched over as though trying to curl into himself. He winced in sympathy at the pain he knew broken ribs could be and decided to offer the cold packs in his bag; but words eluded him. The loss of his impressive vocabulary didn't panic him as it should have as the dark spots from before returned with a vengeance, forcing him to close his eyes.

The distant cry of sirens spread through the evening and Aramis drifted off like a leaf in autumn air.

* * *

There was a hammer pounding in his head, an industrial sized hammer wielded by someone much too enthusiastic.

The softness under him was a surprise, so was the blessed coolness against his face, but the familiar presence by his side was not. His head felt huge for his neck and a groan escaped Porthos as he shifted, seeking the cool soft pressure that had lifted off his face.

"Porthos?"

He opened his eyes a crack and winced. The light around him was too much and with the cold barrier gone from over his skin he could see the colors swirling at the back of his eyelids. It triggered the nausea lurking behind the headache.

"Hold on,"

The sound of tiny wheels on tiled floor trickled into his awareness before the lights went out. Porthos sighed in relief. This time when he untangled his eyelashes to peek at his surroundings it was to find a shadow looming near him. Blinking slowly he worked through the blurs until a face framed with wild curls took form out of the soft glow that countered the dark.

"Hey," Aramis smiled.

Questions popped like fireworks in his mind but he only got as far as to lick his lips before his friend continued.

"We all got out –at the hospital back in London and…it's around midnight,"

"A –" he cleared his throat.

Aramis brought a straw to his lips and he relished the cool water that washed away the taste of dry cotton from his mouth.

"All of us made it – yes even the pup – no the Captain hadn't come around yet."

Porthos pushed the glass away and squinted up at his brother who had sat forward to pick up the cold pack. He almost went back to sleep at the relief that spread from the side of his face where it touched.

"You a psychic now?" he muttered.

Aramis stopped and pulled away abruptly.

Porthos very nearly growled at the loss of the frozen respite.

"Porthos?"

"You're expecting someone else?"

"You're really awake this time," Aramis grinned.

There were tendrils of the alien warmth of medication still in his system but he wasn't too far gone to not be able to give a pointed glare to his brother. Nor was he blind to the relief that had softened the too dark eyes in the dim light.

"I'm fine," he said.

Aramis resumed his ministration of the cold pack with a sharp nod.

"Of course you are,"

Porthos searched his brothers face in the near darkness, the coiled tension in the words hadn't been lost on him.

"I knew I could take it,"

"Never doubted you,"

The honesty in that statement rang loud but the grip on the cold pack faltered minutely and Aramis cursed under his breath. Porthos lifted a hand and took over the job, dabbing the chilled polythene to the worst of throbs. Aramis sat back and Porthos felt long fingers coming to encircle the wrist of his free hand.

"That doesn't make it easier to watch," Porthos offered.

Aramis shook his head, a sheepish smile edging on his face.

"No it doesn't," he let go of Porthos and ran a hand through his hair, "I've seen you concussed too many times hermano mio but it never gets easier. And what Mendoza did – I wanted to rip his arms off."

Porthos had seen the desire clearly in his brother's eyes and even concussed he could remember the controlled violence with which Aramis had sprung for freedom when Mendoza had been startled by the crash outside the building.

"You got your revenge,"

"I did," the grim smile was a touch brutal.

Not wanting to dwell on the darkness that seeped into his brother's eyes Porthos blindly deposited the cold pack on the table beside his bed and shifted a little to wriggle up at the incline under his back. As the pulsing in his head ebbed back to a manageable level he offered a smile that pulled rather painfully at his face.

"So what's the damage?" he asked.

"Well the nose wasn't set immediately so that'll remain crooked, they had to shave near the hairline to put in the stitches but the hair will grow back in time. And I'm sure we'll be able to sort the problem of missing teeth at least,"

Porthos stared at the ceiling as he considered the list, it was the image of a shaved patch of hair that made him wince internally but he mused that missing teeth would be a bigger problem. And then he stopped short at the thought, a frown threatened to break out over his sore face as he remembered that the last time he had his wits about him he had a full set of teeth.

His eyes slanted towards a grinning Aramis.

"You're lucky I'm seeing two of you right now," Porthos growled.

"You are?" Aramis shifted closer in blatant concern.

Porthos smiled despite the pain it cost him.

"Nah…"

"I see the concussion didn't leave a lasting damage," Aramis chuckled as he squeezed his shoulder, "and the swelling is going down too; you're using both your eyes in case you didn't notice."

Porthos would have rolled his eyes if he hadn't been worried of the dizzy spell waiting in the wings. He was about to inquire after others when Aramis shifted a bit to the side and Porthos squinted against the glow that fell on him. It took him a minute to recognize it was the light over the other bed in the room. The bed that was occupied by Athos, his face looking flushed and gaunt as the machine on his other side gave off a steady beat.

"The surgeries were successful, bones will heal with time." Aramis said, "It's the infection that'll be a problem. With the damage to his ribs the coughing would be hell,"

"The bolt wound?" Porthos asked.

"The near drowning," Aramis said, "they're trying to control the fever but at least it's not as bad as it could be," his eye were still fixed on his sleeping brother.

But Porthos' gaze had drifted from the brother sleeping afar to the one sitting near. He saw the ashen color that Aramis' face had taken and as the soft glow threw his features in sharp relief the shadows under his eyes became obvious. His right arm was in a sling, the bulk of bandages around his side and shoulder forming a distorted silhouette. His eyes traveled to the splinted fingers of the right hand before they flicked to the needle in the back of his left, it was linked to the IV on the stand by his side. It was this, Porthos noted, that he had heard before the lights had been switched off in the room.

" 'Mis…"

Dark eyes full of warmth and concern turned to him immediately.

"You stubborn bastard," it reverberated into a subhuman growl, "you should be in bed!"

He had no idea who he was angrier at, himself for not registering that Aramis had been badly wounded or at the idiot who wasn't acting like it. Memories of another time they had accidently overlooked their brother's pain flashed in his mind and Porthos fists clenched at the stupidity of it all.

Aramis shrugged his good shoulder.

"The surgery went fine and like I said bones heal,"

"So what? You singed out AMA?"

He was loud enough to have Athos shifting in his sleep.

It took a few minutes for Porthos to register the sound of door opening and the newcomer was already into the room by the time recognition dawned. Porthos hated being concussed, hated his senses being dulled to such an extent.

"He tried to, but we found a compromise." Lemay closed the door behind him, "And he'll be on babysitting duty most of the time during his recovery to pay me back for the strings I had to pull for this one."

"You say like it's a bad thing," Aramis opened the plastic container the doctor tossed in his lap.

But Porthos refused to be sidetracked.

"Explain," he said, ignoring the nausea that was stirred by the smell of the sandwich Aramis had bit into.

"He takes the meds, lets the nurses monitor his health and he gets to stay in this room," Lemay nodded to the tall backed seat Aramis was sitting in, "hence the recliner,"

Porthos had come across the doctor as Aramis' friend from the university. He had no idea what lay beneath the depth of this loyalty these two held for each other but he was immensely grateful for it. It was a relief to know that there was someone else looking out for his brother.

"Thank you," Porthos hoped he could convey his gratitude in the two words.

The doctor nodded and raised a brow at Aramis who had started on the next sandwich.

"And that Aramis is an example of good manners," he said.

"And I shall endeavor every day to rid him of them," Aramis grinned unrepentant with the bread crumbs on his face.

"I understand now why I never liked your company," Lemay made a face as he gave the two men a studying look and moved towards the door, "Now I'm heading home and if I get one call because of you Aramis, an abused bolt wound would be the least of your worries."

Aramis pressed his hand to his heart looking affronted.

"I already gave you my word Georgey,"

"That's Doctor Lemay," the man snapped back even as he exited.

Porthos settled back against the mound of pillows at his back and watched Aramis laugh quietly as he brushed the crumbs away. While he was glad that his friend had at least half listened to reason it still didn't sooth his righteous demand to see the man relaxed and tucked in for the night at least.

"You do know that you were shot through with a crossbow bolt?"

"I waited until the anesthesia wore off," Aramis rubbed his hand over his face, "but I couldn't let them trap me in my head with all the medication. Not after what I had seen,"

Porthos frowned; he had assumed that after his round with Mendoza his friend would have found peace at the man's actions. But then he saw that far off look in Aramis' eyes and reached to clasp his fingers, silently guiding his brother back from the white clearing he knew that haunted him.

"I was scared," Aramis looked back at him,"I needed to have you all before my eyes."

Porthos had a feeling that something had happened at the factory that he wasn't aware of, something that had brought that wild terror back to his brother's eyes. The terror that had only just begun to recede from their nights. But it was the rigid set to his jaw that told him how difficult it was for Aramis to admit what he had. In this Porthos decided he could at least ease the tension and a slow, teasing grin appeared on his face.

"All of us?" he asked.

Aramis smirked and nodded towards the long sofa on the other side of Athos' bed that Porthos hadn't paid mind to. Now that he raised his head for a closer look he found d'Artagnan with his mouth open and head thrown back over the backrest, fast asleep.

A fond smile broke on his face at the sight.

"The pup's wiped out," Aramis said.

"He has the right idea," said Porthos, "why don't you give sleep a try?"

"You know me; we're not exactly friends sleep and I,"

" 'Mis?"

"hmm..?"

"Shut up,"

* * *

The call had been terrifying but not entirely unexpected.

He had been calling Leon even before Serge had traced d'Artagnan's phone to the abandoned factory. It had only been a matter of fabricating a story before he could dispatch the help he was sure would be needed. After all, he knew his men and it seemed that d'Artagnan was cut from the same cloth; he had the mangled mess of Athos' car to prove it.

None of them did anything halfway.

He went over his statement again; one that explained how d'Artagnan in a spirit to help had offered his services and used Treville's permission to go through Mendoza's life until he had spotted the abandoned factory, where the Captain had sent his men to check if it was worth reporting. Making sure there were no loop holes left, he signed the paper and handed it to Leon.

"Thank you," he said as the other man stuck the paper in a folder, "for everything,"

"It's not a lie that they could still be in danger," Leon shrugged, "and it's your man stuck outside the door, I just had to wave my badge."

But the Captain couldn't explain how much it meant to him to have access to his men in the hospital even at this hour. He had always believed in taking care of his employees and he would deny it till he was blue in the face that these three were just a bit more than employees. And then there was d'Artagnan...

Captain Treville shook his head held out his hand.

Leon appeared dead on his feet but his grip was firm.

"I am sorry for your loss," Treville said.

The clipped nod held a world of grief.

"Your men found him Captain," Leon tucked his folders under his arm, "they restored Cornet's reputation and at this point it's the best I could have asked for,"

They parted ways with another handshake and the Captain went to check on his men for the first time since they had woken up in recovery. Standing in the elevator he closed his eyes and let the fleeting sensation of weightlessness lift the anxiety that had been clinging to him all day.

The scene he had come upon in that factory, the rush to get his men stabilized at the nearest hospital and the near fight that it had been to get them back to this hospital in London had left him wrung out. The surgeons had been amazed by their findings and had insisted to tell him that if the bolt-head had been a mere millimeters longer Athos' lung would have been punctured and how despite all the swelling at the man's broken ankle he still gets to keep his toes. Or how Porthos had escaped with his temporal arteries intact and d'Artagnan hadn't found an organ pierced from his broken ribs. And he couldn't forget the insanity that was Aramis' wound, refusing to accept for a long while that the worst the man suffered from was excessive blood loss. Had the bolt been thicker, the bolt-head different, or the trajectory changed a centimeter his man would have lost the arm if not his life. As it was, the doctors were cautiously optimistic he would not need a bone graft.

Treville startled as the elevator pinged to a stop.

Resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose he strode into the quite corridor. The room his men shared was straight ahead and as he neared Treville found that the wide window that opened inside hadn't had the blinds drawn. His brisk pace came to a gradual halt as he studied the sleeping form of Athos before turning his gaze to Porthos. He watched as Aramis got to his feet and coaxed d'Artagnan to lie down on the sofa, tucking a pillow under his side.

As the man rolled the IV stand at his side back to his recliner Treville found that he couldn't move.

Lucky the doctors had called them, how each one of them was lucky.

But Treville knew better; they weren't individually blessed with extraordinary good luck. They were ordinary men with the good and the bad. It was simply that they shared it amongst each other, spreading the good and stretching the bad so that the former would grow and the latter would disperse.

His legs shook as he took the few steps he needed to collapse into one of the chairs lining the wall of the corridor. Treville pressed his elbows on his knees and dropped his head in his hands. Luck had found him these men when he could have never imagined being able to put faces to the names when he had first heard them. Now d'Artagnan had found his way to him.

Treville squeezed his eyes shut and tried to gather his wandering thoughts. The weight of his past was a heavy one and he hoped he could find a path for them all.

* * *

 **TBC**

 **Thank you everyone who read, follow and favorite this story. Everyone who left me reviews you people are amazing to take the time to do so. Debbie, Guest06, Clara, Guest and Ruth thank you so much for leaving me your thoughts!**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: This is the last chapter, it got away from me and turned into this giant.**

 **Thank you everyone who read, followed and favorite this story, your support is deeply appreciated. To those of you who take the time to leave me reviews you are the motivation keeping this 'verse alive; Thank You ALL!**

 **I have one other story and a one shot planned in this 'verse but cannot say when they'll be up; but I have at least come up with names that I posted on my profile page :)**

 **Thank you everyone.**

 **Until next time…**

* * *

He woke up to the sound of snickering.

Exhaustion still lapped at the edges of growing awareness and Athos had half a mind to let sleep carry him off again. But ever since his fever broke two days ago he had been finding himself easily dragged back into the land of the living, even with all the good drugs floating in his system.

A soft smack from of a rolled up paper preceded an indignant yowl.

"What was that for?" d'Artagnan nearly whined.

"For chewing up the sharpie cap; bad puppy," Aramis replied.

Another smack.

"Ow! Porthos!" Aramis sounded surprised.

"For giving the pup a sharpie, you should know better," Porthos sounded too grave to actually be serious.

"How many times do I have to say this? I'm not a pup!"

Shifting slightly against the pillows at his back Athos opened his eyes. The late afternoon sun had washed the room into a sepia tone and softened the edges of its occupants. Porthos was sitting by his side with a rolled up newspaper in his hand and dark eyes alight with mirth. The bruises were fading into yellows slowly and the swelling still lingered over the healing cuts, but his friend's dimpled grin was not tarnished.

Athos blamed the medication in his veins for the sudden blur in his eyes at the sight.

"Ready to break out from here?" Porthos grinned at him.

"More than you'll ever know," Athos found himself smiling.

His breath still dragged a little in his windpipe but the lack of tube under his nose and over his ears felt like freedom. And even if the threat of a cough was enough to have him pressing his hand to the bulk of bandage stuck to his chest, he knew that the wound under it was healing nicely.

"I've got the car outside," d'Artagnan spoke up from where he was sitting by the bed near Athos' foot.

"You didn't have to," he didn't want the kid thinking that he owed him.

"Of course he does," Aramis said from apposite the younger man, a wicked grin pulling on his face, "he totaled your car so he'll be ferrying us everywhere until that's sorted."

"My car is only available for Athos,"

"It was more of a communal car,"

"Not my problem,"

"We'll see," Aramis said, "and stop chewing the sharpie,"

Athos looked down to where his foot was wrapped in the new hard cast the doctors had put in place before his impending discharge. He forced his face to remain bland at the sight of bright bubblegum pink bandages that the younger men were squiggling upon.

"Aramis thought the colour would suit you," Porthos chuckled.

"Brings out the irritation in your eyes," Aramis grinned.

"And you are, after all, the best at bringing it to the fore,"

He couldn't help it; the lucid moments that he had been afforded in the past four days had only wound tighter the tangle of emotions in his gut, frustration and rage being the closest to the surface and brimming every time he laid eyes on Aramis. He could feel Porthos stiffen in his chair and d'Artagnan was openly staring at him. None of them had missed the lack of warmth in his voice but the man towards whom the frigid anger was aimed simply shrugged and smirked with a tilt of his head towards Athos' toes.

"So you'll understand the need to finish my masterpiece,"

Athos glanced in the direction indicated and found the toenails of his injured foot painted hot pink to compliment the cast.

"Behold Lord Ironfoot Glass-ankle!" Aramis gave a little bow where he sat, complete with the flourish.

Athos could see the title written in bold black on the cast with a number of bent stick figures all around it. He ignored that and studied the wobbly sketches on the other side of the cast. D'Artagnan seemed to have drawn an airplane and what could either be a car or a hat although Athos was leaning towards the former because it seemed to him that the young man had stopped amidst his endeavors of creating a train engine.

"Am I to be the mascot for public transport?" he asked.

"I think the pup's feeling guilty about your car," Porthos said.

"I'm not!" d'Artagnan sat straighter with a frown that melted into a sheepish grin, "I mean I'm not a pup but yes I'm sorry for the car Athos. I would pay for the repairs and –,"

Athos raised a hand to stop the kid midsentence. He had a vague idea as to the fate of the vehicle but he was still hazy about the connection of events leading to his rescue. His recent memories were dominated by pain and fear and the uncomfortable shivery heat of fever.

"There's no need for that," he said, "I'm sure you had your reasons,"

"You saved our butts with that stunt," Porthos' smile was fond if a touch sad as his eyes fell on Aramis.

Athos found the other man kneading at his uninjured shoulder with his good hand. His right arm was in a sling and his shirt couldn't hide the bandages that added a distorted bulk to most of his upper right side. Red drops trailing down the shaft of a bolt flashed in his mind before Athos noticed that the brown eyes had shifted from Porthos to him.

Aramis was about to say something when Athos turned pointedly to Porthos.

"I thought I was getting out of here today," he said.

Porthos frowned even as he nodded.

All three of them turned to Aramis at the sound of the chair pushed as the man got to his feet.

"I'll get the nurse and the papers," he said.

Athos watched him leave and waited for the air to get lighter, but the sight only squeezed at his lungs and the ragged scream as his brother got rid of the bolt rang in his mind. He hardly noticed as d'Artagnan too scurried off to bring the car around and only broke out of the reverie when Porthos sighed. He turned to his friend to find him scowling lightly.

"What?"

"He's been worried for you these past days," Porthos said, "about all three of us,"

"It's not a monopoly. I can see you were worried, so was d'Artagnan," Athos ran a hand through his hair, "as am I," he confessed.

"He's been –"

"Stubborn?" Athos offered.

"Determined," Porthos said, "they were thinking of putting you under if the infection didn't lose hold. Said with the injured ribs there was a risk of it worsening," the big man shrugged, "didn't understand much what the doctors said but 'Mis certainly did."

Athos shrugged and cleared his throat. The tickle at the back of his throat was persistent and soothed only slightly by the water Porthos gave him. It kept him quiet as his friend helped him maneuver into his clothes, but by the time they were done Athos was leaning heavily onto Porthos as his friend held him through the bout of coughing.

He was sure his ribs were breaking afresh with every expansion of his lungs to expel the irritation in his breath. It felt like ages of glass shards pressing to his chest until finally the need to cough tapered off, leaving a dull ache in his sternum.

"I gotcha Athos, it's alright," Porthos settled beside him on the bed and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, "it's alright, you're fine."

Athos let his head hang between his shoulders and breathed through his nose, tentatively measuring out the amount of air and intervals to find his rhythm again. It helped to focus on Porthos' thumb that was swiping over his arm in a gentle, soothing motion.

"I'm just glad this mess is over with," said the big man.

Athos nodded.

His chest hurt.

"It was too close," Porthos said.

Athos was glad for the fringes of his hair that had fallen forward on his face, he was sure the fear that trembled through him would have easily been visible in his stinging eyes otherwise. He had seen death flying his way and he had seen a brother step in its path, it was the latter that had scared him.

He looked up at the sound of footsteps and his eyes hardened when they fell on Aramis. He was carrying the pack of medicine and a brown bag in his good arm as the nurse by his side smiled at something he had said. Athos wanted nothing more than to grab his friend by the collar and give him a good shake in the hopes that some remorse for his reckless actions would shake lose.

"Alright Athos, we've got all your papers here," Nurse Beth pushed a wheelchair in front of her, "and just to remind you again, do not to push yourself even with the crutch, let the breaks heal."

Athos nodded again, he dared not speak lest it spark the embers of pain in his healing ribs.

"C'mon then," Aramis took the handle of the wheelchair and gave it a wiggle, "your chariot awaits my lord,"

"Got the prescription filled?" Porthos asked as he effortlessly helped Athos in the chair.

The move left sharp pinpricks stabbing all around his wound and Athos wrapped an arm around his middle. He let the chatter roll off him as Nurse Beth settled him in the wheelchair and only sat up straighter when Aramis dropped the filled prescription in his lap.

"I'll drive," Aramis winked at him.

"Porthos," Athos shook his head, his voice just above a whisper, "Porthos will do it,"

There was a second in which he saw hurt flash in the dark eyes looking his way before Porthos spoke up.

"And how do you plan to maneuver the wheelchair with one good arm 'Mis?" there was laughter in his voice, "you'll have him spinning in circles where he is,"

"Forgot about that," Aramis' smile was fleeting.

But Athos was surprised when he shifted the large brown bag to clutch it against him with his injured arm and pulled out a round pillow covered in purple fluff from it. Dropping the empty paper-bag Aramis picked up the medicine pack and left the pillow in Athos' lap instead.

"All yours," he smirked at Porthos before stepping away.

Athos didn't want to admit it to himself but the pillow felt wonderful braced against his wound where a tight ache had taken permanent residence it seemed. The fresh air outside was a treat even if it felt a little too chilled. He raised his face to savor the sting of it as d'Artagnan hurried out of his car and opened the back door. The shift into the back seat went easier with the pillow braced against his chest and Athos settled with the door at his back and his legs stretched out before him.

"It's my car and Porthos drove it here," d'Artagnan was insisting from outside, "why does he get to drive it around?"

"Because it won't be easy for you with your broken ribs," Aramis pointed out, "you shouldn't have been the one to bring the car around either,"

And what about your broken ribs Athos wanted to ask the man, the fact that his brother refused to even pause for consideration of his own injury was grating on his patience and self imposed silence. The desire to scream at the man was too strong and Athos decided to just ignore the short argument. It did nothing to quell the glare he sent Aramis' way when he opened the door opposite Athos.

"I'm sure Porthos would enjoy your company," he snapped.

Aramis blinked.

Athos clutched the pillow close and looked away.

The click of the door closing echoed much too loudly before it was opened a few seconds later.

"Keep his foot elevated d'Art," Aramis was saying.

Athos didn't register the young hacker sliding in place in the back seat; he didn't notice him setting his bandaged foot in his lap. Instead he glared at the back of the dark head in the front seat beside Porthos' as the big man directed the car onto the road. The ride was quiet and Athos almost wished for Aramis to turn around and demand answers. He would tell him exactly what he thought of his friend's flippant response to his own safety.

But his wait lasted the entire trip and he felt a perverse sense of victory when Aramis stayed behind with d'Artagnan as Porthos helped him up to their flat. The triumph immediately rang hollow as soon as it registered and Athos scowled as his friend eased him onto the bed.

"Go easy on him will ya?" Porthos crouched before him.

"How can you let him roam about like that? He had a bolt stuck in him, which he pulled out if I may add,"

"Neither of us can 'let' him do or not do anything," Porthos tapped his knee, "we can suggest but the way you're going it's not helping,"

"What's not helping?" Aramis asked and they both looked up as the other two entered, "Is it d'Art?"

"Hey I helped,"

"In polishing off the cake I brought for Nurse Beth and her friends," Aramis nodded.

"It was a piece," d'Artagnan looked to Athos, "and they insisted."

"I believe you," Athos said.

He had a feeling that d'Artagnan was afraid of the opinion he would have about the young hacker. But as far as he had managed to decipher the role the younger man had played in their rescue, Athos didn't think it left d'Artagnan in any debt whatsoever. He smiled when the younger of the two before him grinned smugly and he was suddenly reminded of the times Thomas had beaten his two friends at fencing. His best friends who had neither denied nor accepted his claim that they had let his little brother win every one of those time.

Athos swallowed hard as he watched Aramis hit the younger man upside the head prompting Porthos to grab the hacker in a playful defense that left d'Artagnan squawking, one arm wind-milling as he tried to wriggle free.

While they hadn't had much chance to share their childhood with Thomas, Athos could well imagine now how his little brother would have fit in their brotherhood. There was something about d'Artagnan that stirred those ashes left behind by his lost younger brother. The thought that he could have lost the young hacker too suddenly brought his screeching mind to a halt.

"I'm fine," he jerked away abruptly from the grip that were helping him scoot back on the bed.

"Whoever said you weren't?" Aramis snorted as he pulled his hand away.

The lack of retaliation in those brown eyes somehow made him bristle more.

"Well the Captain is stopping by at my place in an hour," d'Artagnan spoke up before the silence could grow.

"He'll drop you by later?" Porthos asked.

"I'd rather stay home and sleep," d'Artagnan said as his gaze sought Athos', "If you don't need anything that is?"

"We'll be fine,"

D'Artagnan nodded and moved towards the door, his exit would have been awkward if Aramis hadn't reminded him to eat.

"Yes Mom!" d'Artagnan replied from the hallway where a chuckling Porthos followed him.

And Athos suddenly found himself alone with Aramis.

"Athos –"

"I need to sleep,"

"Well yes –"

He settled back against the pillows at his back and closed his eyes. There was a sound of footsteps and by their direction Athos could tell they were heading for the chair by his desk.

"I don't think I'm in danger of forgetting to breathe while I'm at it," he said.

The silence that followed was long enough to make him want to open his eyes. But just as Athos was contemplating the move he heard footfalls again and the sound of door opening.

"Not now you aren't," Aramis said as he closed the door after him.

* * *

He followed d'Artagnan to the door and down to the car. Porthos knew from experience what broken ribs felt like and knew that moving his arms for steering would be awful for the kid. It still didn't make the confused frown on the narrow face any less funny.

"What're you doing?" d'Artagnan looked around as though expecting someone Porthos had come down to meet.

"I drove you to and from the hospital remember?"

"But I'm heading home,"

"I know,"

Porthos took in the honest bafflement in the dark eyes and wondered if the younger man had ever had anyone watching his back. A sick feeling coiled in his stomach when it dawned on him that the young hacker hadn't had any visitors while in the hospital and he was glad Aramis had the presence of mind to make sure the kid stuck with them.

Another look at d'Artagnan and he knew it wasn't about thoughts but more about this need to protect that he found bubbling up inside him, one he knew now his brother must have felt too.

"You know what, I'll leave the car here and take a taxi," d'Artagnan said.

"But –"

"It hurts to drive right now," the young hacker stopped mid shrug with a wince.

The attempt at offhand honesty unfurled something warm in Porthos and he waited as d'Artagnan made the call to secure conveyance. They waited in silence for a while and to the big man's surprise it didn't feel uncomfortable. He quirked a brow when d'Artagnan glanced at him before looking away.

"The Captain wants to talk about the charges brought against me," he said, staring straight ahead.

Porthos was surprised to note the undercurrents of anxiety there.

"He's a good man who'll see you're safe,"

"Why?" the wide eyes that turned to him were impossibly young.

Porthos knew he wasn't good with subtle words like his brothers and he wasn't one to shy away from honesty either.

"You helped save our lives and by the looks of things you've been thrust into the life you've made," he said and as the taxi rounded the corner a sudden fear at the thought of the boy slipping away slammed into him, "but if you're in trouble," he added, "any form of trouble – just call us or you know where we live – alright? And you have to put our names down as your emergency contacts," he spoke in rush – there was no way he could imagine the kid hurt and alone.

If d'Artagnan was confused by his concern he was quite literally speechless at the offer. After a few attempts at forming words he gave up and gave a sharp nod, turning away. But not before Porthos caught the wet shine in his eyes.

As the taxi came to a stop the young hacker glanced back once at the building and looked to Porthos.

"Will they be alright?" he asked, "I mean Athos seems really mad at him,"

"They'll be fine," Porthos couldn't stop the fond grin from appearing on his face, "See Aramis is like a cat that's decided it's gonna sit on your lap, no amount of shoving him off will keep him from bouncing right back into the place it's set its mind to."

It was a comforting thought with which he sent off the younger man and it was the same thought he held onto as he watched Athos pull away into his head over the evening. When their dinner in Athos' room turned too strained for even Aramis' charm Porthos had to get out of there.

Dumping his plate in the kitchen sink he resisted the urge to punch a hole through the nearest cupboard door, they had enough injuries between them to make like difficult as it was. The vibration of his phone made him jump and Porthos wondered what had ended the Captain's disappearance act. In no mood for another sulking person on his radar he greeted the call with grunt.

"That bad?" asked Treville.

"Tell me you need me to come in tomorrow,"

"Well no, but there are things I need to discuss so I will be dropping by,"

" 'bout time,"

"I would have come by earlier if it weren't for the mess you three made,"

Porthos winced.

"Sorry about that," he said.

"I will be there at ten hundred tomorrow,"

"Wait Captain, about d'Art –"

"That's none of your concern Porthos, goodnight."

He cursed at the silence and consciously stopped himself from cracking the mobile phone in his grasp. Pulling in a deep breath he turned back to the hallway, stopping short outside of Athos' room. Porthos had hoped that the other two would sort out their differences in his absence but the silence told him otherwise. With a shake of his head he turned instead to his own room and lay awake for hours, waiting for some sound of breakthrough.

But he only heard the doors closing outside; with a frustrated grunt Porthos turned to his side and let the exhaustion claim him…

… _the new kid is sitting beside him, there's a dull grey in the inner corner of one of his eyes when he turns to him with a gap toothed grin – he's a baby is all that comes to his mind._

 _On his other side Athos nudges at him and they share a grin when the next time the new kid almost jumps off his seat in excitement to answer the teacher's question. He's a baby who shouldn't be in their class and who definitely shouldn't be such a know it all._

 _With his foot he slides the chair back quietly as the new kid rattles off the answer. There's a crash when the kid flops down and lands on the floor, the chair screeching and tipping sideways._

 _Their teacher hurries over._

 _And the stunned silence breaks as the new kid starts laughing…_

…Porthos squinted against the sunbeams on his face and reached out to stop the alarm before it went off. Kicking off the covers that had wrapped around his legs he wiped a hand down his face, tracing the healing cut high on his cheek.

At the grand age of seven they had collectively hated the five year old thrust in their class and Aramis' exuberance hadn't helped the matter, neither did the fact that the kid never told on them. They hadn't had the sense at the time that it was more to do with distrust of adults than any form of bravery on the news kid's part.

A bittersweet smile curled on his face at the thought how far they had come and Porthos took to his feet with the hope that things would be better.

The flat was quiet when he padded out into the hallway and knocked lightly on the door opposite his. He pushed in when there was no reply and stopped short to find the room empty. His eyes went to the open window, the one that had the landing of the fire-escape staircase just outside. Quelling his first instinct to go after his brother who had apparently been up on the roof for who knows how long, Porthos went to the other one.

Athos was already awake and contemplating the far wall when he barged in.

"Alright I've had enough of this. He has ran himself ragged, terrified over fluid in your lungs and fussing over your fever fried brain when he should've been passed out on pain meds," Porthos crossed his arms before him, "I've tried to be patient but this has to stop."

Athos arched a brow.

"I understand you're mad at him for stepping in front of the bolt but he saved your life Athos,"

While it was insane as d'Artagnan had pointed out, it was still how it was between them; the life of a brother was dearer than your own. Which made it difficult for all three of them in these situations. That was why he had waited to let Athos' temper run its course.

"It's not that, I don't like it but I get why he did that. Aramis saved my life at the risk of his own but –" Athos ran a hand through his hair as wide blue eyes looked to Porthos for understanding, "but he made me choose,"

With a huff Porthos grabbed the chair by his brother's desk and straddled it. Crossing his arms over the edge of the backrest he nodded at Athos.

"Explain,"

"He made me chose between him and d'Artagnan and I didn't stop him Porthos." Athos tugged at his hair as he shook his head slowly, "I took his insane plan and accepted it knowing the risk it was, I didn't stop him when I could have."

Porthos reached forward to grasp his brother's shoulder and waited until the man looked his way.

"He didn't make you chose, he made a choice," Porthos said, "he knew the risks and took them to save d'Artagnan,"

Athos' face twisted in a grimace as tears clung to his eyelashes.

"That's worse," he said, "don't you get it? I look at him and I get so mad at the reckless way he throws his life in danger. It's like he believes his life matters less and it makes me want to shake him because how can he believe that? After all that we've been through together how could he think that?"

"You know why," Porthos spoke evenly.

No one went through the childhood like their friend had and come out unscathed on the other side, they knew of the scars physical and otherwise that had remained and Porthos could see the moment it click into place for his friend. He gave Athos' shoulder a squeeze before he pulled his hand away.

"I don't think he consciously believes that," Porthos said, "but with what he'd been through it's not a stretch that he may have absorbed some less healthy opinions about himself over the years,"

"That still doesn't –"

"He had to watch me get beat up by Mendoza," Porthos hadn't wanted to bring it up this way but he needed Athos to understand, "couldn't do anything but watch."

Athos paled and sank back into his pillows, his eyes wide and staring.

"But that's not it," Porthos confessed, "something else happened there,"

"What?" Athos' voice was just above a whisper.

Porthos shrugged and ran a hand through his tight curls.

"I dunno, but did you notice he keeps kneading the scar,"

Athos stared.

"The one on the left from –"

"SAVOY,"

"Yeah,"

Athos stared down at his hands in his lap. His voice was soft when he spoke next.

"I didn't note that," he said.

Porthos had guessed as much, he was sure that his brother would've intervened if he had. They had worked hard to pull Aramis out of the pit that was the SAVOY aftermath and Porthos could not help but fear the pattern that may be returning. He rubbed the back of his neck and squeezed the tension there before he let his head drop back. He wondered if he would have to go up and bring their brother back home again.

* * *

The sun was up and had been for a while but his breath still materialized as torn mist in the morning air. He had made his way up when he had woken up the fifth time from a slumber that left him more tired than refreshed. Aramis couldn't decide what was worst, the nightmares he could remember that gave face to his ghosts or the ones that he couldn't remember that left him with a niggling feeling of dread and loss.

The brick ledge was hard under him and the heels of his boots scratched against the side of it as Aramis sat facing the city. He tilted his head slightly at the sound of footfalls on metal; the gait and the pressure that he recognized teased out a small smile on his lips. A few minutes later the blanket from his bed wrapped around his shoulders and a warm hand settled on his good arm. Aramis swung a leg back onto the roof and turned to regard his brother.

Porthos did not look happy.

"How long you've been up here?" he asked.

Pulling the blanket close around him Aramis shrugged a shoulder and winced at the unexpected twang in his back.

"Long enough to freeze then?"

"I came up after dawn,"

"It's been hours,"

Aramis caught himself before he could shrug again. He turned his gaze out beyond the roof and relished how the world seemed wider from this point and how the time seemed to slow down. When he hadn't had the strength to outrun the phantoms at his heels this place had been his escape.

"Do you think he'll ever come back?" he asked.

He didn't have to look to know that his brother had stiffened; he could perfectly imagine the scowl on Porthos' face.

"He won't if he knows what's good for him,"

Aramis could see the sense in that and he wondered if Marsac was even alive. A part of him wished his old friend would reach out to him; he was after all the only other survivor of the tragedy they had gone through. There was so much they could ask each other, learn from each other, because at the moment Aramis honestly wanted someone to understand what to do of the dead that had risen again for him.

He looked up in surprise when Porthos tugged on his arm.

"C'mon, let's get back,"

He nodded and slipped off the edge and onto the roof only for his knees to buckle under him. It was simply Porthos' quick reflexes that stopped his imminent face plant. Aramis clutched at the arm around him and forced his feet to take his weight, it left his toes tingling and his head swam.

A hiss escaped him when his foot threatened to twist under him.

"Easy does it," Porthos scooped him closer, "take it slow,"

"I'm alright," he grabbed onto his brother's shoulder and waited out the sudden bout of lightheadedness.

The heat of the blanket seemed to have thawed his numb body and Aramis bit back a cringe as the muscles in his back bunched and tightened, protesting against the activity as the throb from his wound rolled out under his skin.

It was all he could do to focus on the warm, gentle hand rubbing circles at his back.

"You're always alright," Porthos grumbled.

"One of my many talents," Aramis tipped his head up and offered him a smirk.

"No need to test it so often then eh?"

The blatant concern in the dark eyes nearly undid the control he was scrabbling for. Aramis patted his friend on the shoulder and gathered his scattered thoughts he had let out to air on the roof. Taking a bracing breath of the sharp cold air he managed a smile for his brother.

"I think I'm hungry now," he said.

He followed a chuckling Porthos down to the flat and playfully slapped at the hand that hovered over him to help him in through the window. His brother huffed and cuffed him on the head instead, although it held nowhere near the strength the big man used normally.

"You take a shower while I make breakfast?" Aramis offered.

"Are you implying something?"

"No Porthos I'm saying you stink of antiseptic,"

He dodged the swat coming for his head again.

"That's what I get to babysit you all at the hospital,"

Aramis wrinkled his nose in exaggeration.

"I cleaned up before bed you should have done too,"

"Fine, fine I'm going,"

Aramis watched his friend grouse all the way to his room and then through the hallway to the bathroom. He waited until he heard the water running and went out to the corridor, stopping by Athos' door. But then he turned away with a shake of his head, deciding breakfast as a peace offering would be a better strategy to start the day.

He had only began with the preparations and set the butter to melt on the skillet when there was a knock on the front door. Switching of the flame Aramis wandered over as he glanced at the time. He was not expecting Treville at the door clutching a folder like a sidearm.

"Captain," Aramis stepped back to let the man in.

"I told Porthos I had to talk to you three,"

"He's in the shower, Athos' sleeping I think," Aramis closed the door after their boss and regarded the tired face.

The Captain looked like he hadn't been sleeping well either if the fatigue rolling off him was to go by. And Aramis wasn't sure he liked the angry gleam in the gaze focused on him. Captain Treville made no move to sit as he watched him.

"I talked to Charles d'Artagnan," he said.

It was that hard learned awareness that picked up on the undercurrent beneath the words even though Aramis' mind was too tired think clearly. He kept his tone light even as he looked for the reason for a sense of hostility he could feel.

"He's a good kid," he said.

"He told me what happened there,"

"All good things I hope," his teeth flashed in a not much of a smile.

He had an idea where this was headed and it was clear by the flint like quality in the blue gaze that the Captain was not willing to get sidetracked.

"He told me you took care of Mendoza,"

"Tattletale,"

"Didn't elaborate though," Treville went on as if he hadn't been interrupted, "but then he didn't need to. I have had the medical report shoved in my face by the police," his fist clenched at his side, "broken nose, smashed cheekbone, dislocated jaw, multiple contusions leading to concussion and two fractured eye sockets! The only reasonable explanation behind this could be temporary insanity but the question is do you suffer from it Aramis? Do you frequently have bouts of insanity that I don't know about?"

Aramis opened his mouth to reply.

"No! no you can absolutely not stand there and justify that brutality! You're lucky the man hadn't died!"

"Wasn't planning on killing him, an incision in the trachea," he tapped the hollow at the bottom of his throat, "and he lives."

Treville made a noise somewhere between frustration and disgust. His blue eyes were alight with rage and underlined with shadows that spoke of sleepless nights. Aramis felt a twinge of sympathy, but not regret. He stared straight ahead despite the Captain's trek before him; shoulders straight, feet apart and the arm not in the sling straight down behind his back.

"And the hand – he'll be lucky if he doesn't lose fingers on that,"

"He has another hand that is fine,"

"That is not the POINT!" Treville rounded on him, "what gave you the right? The reason –"

"He hurt Athos and Porthos,"

He didn't raise his voice and he knew there was no need to explain the extent of hurt; the Captain had seen the damage and as far Aramis was concerned that was evidence enough for his right and reason. He was tempted to glance aside when no immediate response was forthcoming and valiantly held back a flinch when the Captain suddenly stood before him, toe to toe.

"If your team ever gets off desk duty it will be to train the recruits," Treville said, "and should you ever go out in the field again it will be under Team Two's supervision."

He wanted to protest, he wanted to point out that it wasn't fair to punish his team for what he did but he knew his words at the moment would only go up in the flames of anger roiling off of the Captain. Aramis' jaw hurt from the force with which he kept it clenched shut, staring ahead until the Captain backed up and turned away. He didn't move as the man left, the door of the flat closing with a surprisingly soft thud.

He exhaled slowly through his nose; his shoulders sagged as a trembling began in the back of his legs and reminded him of the recent blood loss. Aramis crossed the short distance to the sofa and sat down heavily, wincing at the pain in his jostled wound. He let his head rest against the edge of the back rest, staring up at the ceiling before the burning in his eyes became too much and he lifted his good hand to press away the moisture there.

"I'm not in the mood for your disappointed silence and pointed glares," he spoke without moving, "just go and rest Athos,"

He didn't need the sound of the crutch to know who the presence hovering in the room was. But he was not going to apologize for what he did to Menodza and he was not going to apologize for saving Athos and d'Artagnan. His demons and darkness were too close to the surface and Aramis wasn't sure he wouldn't retaliate if he was prodded more. That was why he stiffened when the seat dipped beside him.

It was simply instincts to hook the edge of the coffee table and pull it closer with his foot for Athos' broken ankle.

As Athos settled beside him, Aramis pinched the bridge of his nose before sliding his thumb and finger up to his forehead in an attempt to alleviate some of the constant headache. It stemmed from the continuous strain of the injured tendons of his shoulder but he knew the lack of sleep had always been an avid contributor to the clenched feeling around his head.

He looked down in surprise when he felt the touch to his sling and watched wide-eyed as Athos gently lifted his hand and carefully tucked a cushion under his splinted fingers. The blue eyes flicked up to him and he could read the question in the arched eyebrow.

Aramis let his head drop back against the edge of the backrest.

"He ducked," he told the ceiling, "I hit the wall,"

"I'm sorry,"

"Dislocated knuckles Athos, they will heal,"

"You know what I mean,"

"I do,"

His gaze slanted sideways when Athos stayed quiet and he followed his friend's eyes to his uninjured hand that he had let fall to his lap. The split knuckles had scabbed over but the bruising on his arm was visible where he had rolled up the sleeve of his plaid button-down shirt. The rope burns were fading yet he could tell by the way Athos' eyes were fixed there that he was seeing purple finger prints on a slimmer arm, on a younger skin, from a time gone by.

"I was bound to a chair,"

Athos blinked rapidly and cleared his throat. Aramis watched him for signs of a cough erupting but it looked like his brother had tamped it down with sheer will power.

"Porthos said you ripped its arms clear off,"

"I was in a bit of a hurry,"

"Understandable,"

Aramis couldn't keep the twist up at the corner of his lips and he was relieved beyond words to catch Athos' fleeting smirk in response. But the moment dissolved in a hacking cough that broke out thick and wheezing from Athos. Aramis had only a second to react and sat up turning to put his good arm around his brother's front as the man curled forward and very nearly slipped off the seat.

Landing on his knees Aramis braced his friend's wounded ribs with his arm. He looked up as Porthos darted past them to the kitchen and forced himself to take the weight when Athos sagged against him, his chin on Aramis' shoulder and his breathing a rasp against Aramis' ear.

"Easy Athos, c'mon now breathe, breathe, it'll pass," he rubbed Athos' back, "that's it, breathe,"

To his surprise his brother raised his arms and wrapped them around him. The motion had him bumping into the coffee table at his back but the arms around him held firm, warm, and secure and filled with a need that only surfaces in the face of fears.

"I am sorry for treating you the way I did," Athos said.

Aramis held on, his fingers clutching tight at the back of Athos' shirt.

"I knew you'd come around once your brain let you out,"

"My brain had nothing to do with my attitude towards you," Athos pressed his forehead to his shoulder, "I was – it was – it's hard to watch a brother suffer,"

Aramis swallowed the prickly knot rising in his throat.

"I know,"

He looked up at Porthos as the big man came back with a trey filled with three steaming mugs that he placed on the table before he crouched by his side and laid a hand on Athos' shoulder. It had the other man pulling his face away enough to look Aramis in the eyes.

Guilt, remorse and fear warred for dominance in the wet blue eyes as they glanced at Porthos and then back at Aramis.

"I cannot lose another brother," he said.

* * *

His fingers were pressed white against Aramis' good shoulder and he wondered how he would make these two understand that he could not imagine burying them, one brother's grave was one too much in his life. And yet even as they nodded in understanding he knew they wouldn't make promises they couldn't keep, they would each die to see the other live and that render the argument moot but made the fear cut that much deeper.

"We'll try our best that you don't," Porthos told him before he held onto his shoulders and heaved him back onto the couch, "C'mon up you go and stop talking. You sound like a choking engine,"

Athos glared even as Aramis laughed, leaning against Porthos' leg.

Athos took the honeyed tea his friend handed to him and sighed at the warmth that soothed his raw throat with the first tentative sip. His eyebrows shot up in alarm when Aramis got to his feet and nearly tripped over them; it was Porthos quick grip that stopped him from toppling onto the sofa. Instead he eased the man to perch on the edge of it.

"Here," Porthos handed him a mug before sitting down on Aramis' other side.

If Athos hadn't guessed it from the scent that it was the disgustingly sweetened chocolate milk their friend had received he would have known by the happy grin with which Aramis held the mug to him. At least Porthos knew what to do for their friend Athos mused.

"I think a change of place for my stash is in order," Aramis said, "next time you won't find this blend so easily,"

"You can try," Porthos shrugged, "but I know how you think,"

Athos looked to the big man when there was no snarky reply from their brother. It pulled at his wound as he raised a hand and rested it on the back of Aramis' neck. The gentle pressure left the man jumping in his skin and Porthos hurriedly rescued the mug lest the hot chocolate spilled.

"Sorry – I just - sorry," Aramis' good hand curled into a fist.

It kicked up the worry Porthos' observations had stirred in him and Athos wondered how he had missed the signs, ones that were reminiscent of the time after SAVOY. He squeezed the taut muscle under his hand and gave the bent head a slight shake.

" 'Mis?"

"It's nothing, well nothing new," Aramis' laugh was anything but happy, "I should be used to it by now,"

"Then it couldn't hurt to tell us," Porthos said.

Aramis huffed and rubbed at his face as he sat hunched forwards as much as his injury would allow him.

"You don't know much about how the case went so…" he shrugged a shoulder.

"We know Mendoza and his ring had been brought down," Athos countered.

"And Cornet's name had been cleared," Aramis said, "He and his men were killed by Mendoza,"

"You found the proof?" Porthos asked.

Athos was not expecting the man beside to twitch like he did. He waited with trepidation scratching at his insides as Aramis ran a hand through his hair and left it there to clutch at his curls. His eyes were fixed onto the floor between his feet.

"I found them," he said.

Athos felt his brows reach his hairline as Porthos sat forward on the other end of the sofa.

"It seems Mendoza didn't believe in burying the people he murdered," Aramis went on, "he – he had others too and kept them in the freezer and I – uh – I found them,"

And the rock dropped to the pit of Athos stomach. He watched as Aramis pressed a hand to his mouth even as Porthos reached out and pulled him against himself. His own hand found its way on Aramis' back as the man leaned his good shoulder against Porthos' front and trembled.

"I thought I'd find Athos in there," his voice came out thick as he pulled himself straight and looked to him, "I thought I'd find your cooling body in there,"

* * *

His knuckles were white where he gripped the steering wheel.

Captain Treville pushed back against the seat he sat in and grit his teeth to keep his temper in check. He was a man of habit, of rules and hierarchy. The presence of a certain young hacker in his life had derailed his normal.

So many years of fruitless search and dead ends had settled like a dull ache in chest, disappointing yes, but comforting in its familiarity.

And then suddenly Charles d'Artagnan was at his office door like a twisted joke of providence.

He glanced through the car window towards the building he had exited about half an hour ago. He should have known that this was bound to happen the day he had accepted the other three into his lives.

Somewhere Treville knew his old friend would be laughing at him and he cursed his name under his breath for pulling him into the colossal mess he could see unfolding in his future.

He pulled in a slow breath.

The past was a beast snapping at his heels.

Treville glanced at the folders on the seat beside him and back at the entrance of the building. Guilt raised his head at the way he had stormed out of there, his short fuse had been cut considerably shorter in the face of recent events and he was trying his best to rein in his newest responsibility.

But the kid had a long list of crime trailing after him.

…" _Allegedly; they don't have proof of that Captain," d'Artagnan had corrected him every time…_

…but there was so much that could see the young man locked away despite of the lack of proof in some cases.

Picking up the folder he fortified himself to get back up there and face his men. This was a favor from Leon; while the Captain was not of authority to get official statements signed off, still the Detective Inspector had given him a leeway considering all the threads he had been pulling for one Charles d'Artagnan.

His outward calm belied nothing of the nervousness he felt when he knocked on the door of the flat. There was a distinct sound of a crutch against the floor before the sound of the lock turning. Treville found himself face to face with Athos.

"Captain,"

"Athos,"

Neither of them moved from his position.

Blue eyes met blue like a swords straining against each other.

Secrets not his own pushed forward in a desire to spill forth, a history lost in blood and shadows demanded to be exposed and Treville had to tap in the reserves of his training to keep his calm. He had diffused complicated explosives under fire, he could do this.

He was about to speak but Athos beat him to it.

"I heard," he said.

Of course he did, he had been screaming at Aramis after all.

"I'm –"

"Is it over?"

Treville paused, surprised to note that his man was studying him as he would a potential threat. He knew that the younger man was looking for any sign that the Captain might tear into his friend again. Finding no conciliatory words he simply nodded and was relieved to find Athos stepping back, leaving the door open for him.

The lounge was empty and Treville glanced towards the hallway Porthos was coming from.

"Is he –"

"Resting," Porthos crossed his arms and leaned against the wall.

The message was clear, no one was getting to Aramis' room without Porthos' say so.

"Leon will be coming to take your statements this afternoon," Treville raised the folder, "I wanted to debrief you before that."

They set up in the lounge and the Captain explained the entire story he had weaved, not at all surprised when his men added and tweaked it to suit their needs. He wisely refrained from asking Aramis join them too and once they all had their accounts of the event straightened; Treville sat back with the coffee Porthos had brought him.

"There is one last thing I need to ask you," he said.

He had seen them with d'Artagnan and while a large part of him was hoping for a good response, Treville's heart still thudded wildly at the thought of otherwise. He looked from Porthos' intent gaze to Athos' slightly raised eyebrow.

"Charles d'Artagnan," he said, "the man had confessed of his involvement in framing Athos,"

He looked to the man in question and kept his voice deceptively neutral.

"Do you wish to bring charges against him?"

"Of course not,"

Treville stared and checked the smile before it could appear. He had been looking for at least a bit of resistance.

"He is the reason you –all of you got dragged into this,"

"And he's the reason we're out of it too," Athos said.

"And it's not like the kid planned for this to happen," Porthos added.

The pressure seemed to ease off his back and the Captain took to his feet with a rare genuine smile. He had a feeling that it might just all fall into place, at least until someone pulled a thread that would be better left alone.

Treville sighed.

The past was indeed snapping at his heels.

* * *

Flipping the folder close he sat back and glared through the window at the building across the street. His hands curled into fists over the brown cover and he absentmindedly shredded the paper napkin in his grasp. His eyes flicked to the clock on the wall before going back to the pavement across the seat.

He had seen them arrive; it was after all his car that Porthos had driven over.

D'Artagnan looked to the closed file and felt his stomach clench.

He hadn't told them about this.

He was still having a hard time believing himself that this was possible.

That someone would go to such an extent for him.

But he couldn't accept it, not yet.

With a sigh d'Artagnan grabbed the file, paid his due and was out on the street before he could change his mind. He didn't pay attention to anything until he was on the designated floor and found his steps faltering in the lobby. Beyond the clear glass wall and door was the floor space divided into large cubicle and he was sure somewhere in there were the three men he was looking for.

The hall was buzzing with activity and quiet conversations as he walked past the divides that came up to his elbows. Never one to feel shy d'Artagnan suddenly felt like every eye in the room was focused his way as the chatter about him died down.

"d'Art!" Aramis waved from the entrance of a cubicle, his other arm still cradled in a sling, "we were wondering if you'd decided to skip country and disappear after all."

D'Artagnan scowled; he had some choice words to offer to the man who had streamlined the obvious staring before he grabbed him in a one armed hug. It was short and ended with his hair mussed by Aramis' good hand but d'Artagnan found himself smiling. As Aramis pulled him into the cubicle he shared with his friend Porthos came to entrance waving his arms like he was shooing away belligerent chickens,

"Nothing to see here people, just a kid on a field trip, go on, you're paid to work here,"

"Don't say that or the Captain will get ideas," Aramis told him.

"And stop waving with that pen before you take someone's eye out," Athos added.

Porthos rolled his eyes and tossed the pen to Aramis who deposited it on the table he was perched on even as he turned a chair with his foot towards d'Artagnan.

"Where have you been?" he asked, "Why didn't you come over? Did the Captain scare you off? We can sic Athos on him if he did; he's scarier than the Captain when he wants to be,"

"He had his reasons," Porthos took a chair.

"And so did you?" Aramis asked.

There was a shared joke there that d'Artagnan was certain he was missing. He ignored the chair and looked to the man behind the desk Aramis was sitting on the corner of. Athos' injured foot was propped on another chair, the bright cast a distracting splash of colour in an otherwise muted environment. D'Artagnan pulled his eyes away from it and found himself regarded with a steady gaze, piercing yet holding not a speck of judgment.

"How are you d'Artagnan?" Athos asked.

"Good," he said, fingers tracing the edge of the file in his hand, "better than good actually,"

He looked from Athos to the other two before he glanced down at the folder in his clasp. This was his chance but he could not take it, he would not until he had found what he had come looking for here.

"I wanted to apologize," he said, "I am sorry that I attacked you Athos, that I framed you and got you abducted." He glanced towards Aramis and Porthos, "and I'm sorry you two had to go through that,"

He saw the way the three men looked to each other and an entire conversation he wasn't privy to was exchanged in a matter of seconds. Somehow he was not surprised when it was Athos who spoke for all three of them.

"You're forgiven," he said.

"But I –"

"We forgive you d'Artagnan," Athos said, "You need to forgive yourself,"

He blinked to clear the sudden stinging in his eyes; d'Artagnan hadn't expected it to be this easy. He was surprised when none of them commented on his remorse and relief that he knew would be clear on his face, he had never been great at concealing his emotions.

"So do you have a plan?" Porthos asked, "For your future,"

"Something like that," he shrugged, "hopefully a much better chance, but I hadn't accepted it yet."

"Why not?"

"I couldn't without receiving your forgiveness," he explained honestly, "it just didn't feel right after everything I'd done –"

"But you will now?" Aramis prompted him.

He ducked his head and rubbed a hand through his hair even as he nodded.

"We are all happy to hear that,"

The sincerity in those words had him shooting up his head to stare at Athos; while his face gave nothing away d'Artagnan could still see the warmth in those blue eyes, the kind that spoke of concern and pride and a kernel of something he didn't feel like he had earned just yet.

D'Artagnan looked away.

"Well I have to meet the Captain and I don't think I should make him wait for our appointment," he tapped the folder against his hand, "something tells me he's the punctual sort,"

Aramis thumped him on the back as he exited the cubical.

"If he gives you trouble let us know," he grinned, "these two are looking for another round,"

"We are not!"

He left them to it and ascended the stairs to the Captain's office where he was ordered in after a knock. Treville looked to him from behind a large desk that supported a controlled chaos of papers and d'Artagnan bit back the urge to remark on the man's need to utilize technology. He was still unsure of the Captain's proposal, in his experience one favor required another and he feared to think what it was the man would ask of him for all that he had done for him.

Because the Captain had done a lot; d'Artagnan stared at the folder in his hand that was his second chance.

"You have decided then?"

"I have," he straightened, tried his best not to show how much this turning point meant to him.

He stepped closer to the desk and placed the folder before the Captain, tapping it once.

"I accept your terms," he said.

He could have sworn that he saw relief flash through the Captain's eyes but the face remained blank, formal as the Captain nodded and pulled the folder to him. He signed it off and made a call with the short order of 'get up here.'

It took few minutes for the three men he had left back to file into the Captain's office.

"Charles d'Artagnan will be a part of this company from now on," the Captain didn't go for the fanfare, "since you're babysitting the recruits it's your responsibility to get him acquainted with our work,"

There was a moment of silence but d'Artagnan found the three of them too trained to show the surprise their stillness was screaming.

And then Porthos smiled before he glanced at him.

"We'll take care of him Captain," he said.

"We'll make sure he knows everything," Aramis added.

His grin was not a comforting thing and d'Artagnan suppressed a shudder, suddenly he not so sure he wanted to do this.

"We'd like him assigned to our team," Athos said.

The Captain stared.

So did d'Artagnan.

"He'll be working with Serge,"

"That's a waste of his talent,"

Heat bloomed up his neck at the matter of fact tone Athos had used the words in. He couldn't help but stare at the man who wouldn't look his way.

"D'Artagnan is made for fieldwork," Athos said.

"He isn't trained for it,"

"That can be solved," Athos sounded much too confident for a man who couldn't yet even stand without a crutch.

"I can train him in hand-to-hand and physical fitness," Porthos nodded.

"Weapons training and target practice," Aramis added.

"Field awareness and tactical thinking," Athos finished.

The Captain shook his head.

"This is not for he signed up for,"

"I'll do it!" he looked to the Captain and back at other three, "I can do it,"

For a few minutes d'Artagnan was afraid he would be denied, the Captain looked pained at the thought of him taking up this position.

"Since Laurent is otherwise engaged," the Captain looked to each of them in turn, "we can give it a try,"

D'Artagnan resisted the urge to laugh out loud in relief but he could not stop the grin that split across his face. There was something about these three men that he wanted to be a part of, he just couldn't believe that he was offered the chance.

As d'Artagnan followed the three men out of the office he thought he heard Captain Treville groan.

* * *

 _ **The glory of friendship is not the outstretched hand, not the kindly smile, nor the joy of companionship; it is the spiritual inspiration that comes to one when you discover that someone else believes in you and is willing to trust you with a friendship. – Ralph Waldo Emerson.**_

* * *

 **End**


End file.
